City Love
by Kendarrr
Summary: Her name is Quinn Fabray, and she is a dreamer, a romantic, a writer, struggling to live and not just exist. When Rachel sings her way into Quinn's life, she learns, lives, but most of all, she loves. Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

_I still have Bulletproof Romance in the works, but I decided to take a break from the high school environment when writing. Mostly because it's boring since I'm in high school too. So, I tried this other AU instead. My life story aside, I hope you would read this, appreciate, and tell me how it made you feel._

* * *

><p>Her name is Quinn Fabray, but she hates introducing herself as so. It's not that she hates her first name, but rather, her last. It speaks too much about her past and her father, whom she despises as much as she hates limited connectivity and routers that don't blink their neon green lights. The name 'Fabray' may not mean a thing where she is now, but after twenty years of being known as 'Russell Fabray's definition of disappointment', introducing herself as simply <em>Quinn<em> became a habit.

It is one of the only few habits of hers that she likes.

One habit of hers is the incessant biting of the skin around her thumbnail. If you look at her right thumb, it would be pink and raw and falling apart with bits of skin that feels rough to the touch. She also has the habit of staring at people until they notice. She likes people-watching, because that way she can make up stories on her own, without consent. That, in its own, has charm.

Another habit of Quinn's is sneaking illicitly into off-Broadway theatres to think and write. Usually, they would be empty and she would love it. Sometimes there would be a small group of people auditioning and she would love it just the same. She is a closeted Broadway geek, but you can't tell anyone.

Quinn ducks her head to hide herself from view and takes a seat on the hard plastic chairs of the Vineyard Theatre. Only the stage lights are open so it is a struggle to write on the notebook on her lap, so she brings out her light clamp and switches it on. The page before her is empty, but it won't be for long. Uncapping her favourite black pen, she scribbles down words; words that would invoke an emotion, thus provoking a combination to spill out of her fingertips.

_Innocent. Musical. Pristine. Effervescent. Afflatus._

_ Holy crap that girl is good._

Quinn tucks a lock of her bothersome blonde hair into her beret before refocusing on the girl standing in the middle of the stage. From her super mega backseat, she notices that the girl is a brunette, short, but powerful. Her voice, Quinn meant, is as powerful as a freight train, the Titanic, a motherfucking Boeing in the middle of her tiny apartment. It is that sonorous, but not in the incredibly obnoxious way that makes people cringe at the sheer volume.

No, it is far from that.

That girl's voice drips with magic in its very essence.

Quinn watches and listens, jaw unhinged and ears tingling with appreciation. _Wow,_ she thinks, even in her mind she is breathless. _Those are some lungs._

She may have been imagining it, but the girl's eyes landed on her, making her skin explode in a flurry of blushing and flustered movements. It feels as if the arteries on her face ruptured.

Their eyes met, but nothing cheesy happened, like time freezing or anything like that. No, time passes by usual as the girl sings, and because of that, nothing else matters; nothing but her voice, her presence that sweeps the stage with how amazing it is.

The final chord of Maybe This Time vanishes with her voice and Quinn resists the urge to clap violently. So instead, she grips her pen and writes. Furiously, with passion, with fervour that she isn't aware existed; except that she does know about it. She's read about it in novels she dreams of writing and poetry that etches itself into her very bones. Now, the girl's voice is something she will be dreaming about, night after night and hell, even during days when Quinn is feeling as lonely as a mushroom in the middle of Central Park.

A period of time passes by, and Quinn is completely unaware. When she pulls her hand back and urges her wrist to cease all movements, she has five pages of words that tell a story about a cosmic brunette with the voice that can cure the world of any disease if she so wills it. Quinn is frightened by the sheer inspiration that this girl offered to her that her legs shake like the walls of her apartment when her neighbour is having an impromptu disco night.

Leaving was the first and only thing in Quinn's mind. She can't deal being around this girl if she can help it.

But, of course, she can't.

Quinn is attracted by a force so pungent, her feet refuses to move her from her spot standing in the middle aisle, staring at the girl who sucked out words from Quinn's verbose consciousness, as she approaches the terrified blonde.

"Hello," the girl whispers, and Quinn finds herself thigh-deep in a rut she can't seem to get out of.

"Err, hello."

"You are aware that this is a closed audition, right?" The girl asks, not a hint of malice in her tone or eyes. God—except Quinn doesn't really believe in one, not anymore—her eyes are gorgeous. Brown and deep and has the capacity of melting anything in sight. Quinn wonders absently if the girl before her could shoot laser beams out of those pretty eyes.

"Not really," Quinn responds softly. "Sorry if I messed with your aura or something. You should've had kicked me out."

"No!" The girl shakes her head eagerly. "If anything, you helped me perform my best."

"O-oh?"

"Hey Berry; I thought I told you this was a closed audition?" The balding producer guy demands, tapping his heavy boots against the carpeted floor. "You can't have your friends waltzing in and giving you support all the damn time!"

"Sorry Lucas," the girl named 'Berry' said with a small pout. Quinn has to look away to prevent herself from imploding like a bomb that is yet to be invented.

"I'm not exactly—"

"Is that all? Can we go now?" 'Berry' asks 'Lucas' who just nods his head and flicks his wrist to dismiss them. 'Berry' takes Quinn's arm and half-carries, half-drags the blonde out and into the brisk fall air that smells richly of soil and smoke. That's New York for you.

"W-what are you doing?" Quinn asks 'Berry'. She chuckles at the thought of this girl being named 'Berry'. It's fitting, if not for the legs that peek out of that ridiculously short skirt. Berries don't have gorgeous legs! Quinn would know; she is a fan of fruits, after all.

"Lucas tends to be very impatient," 'Berry' answers, stopping once they are a few feet away from the main entrance of the theatre. "My name is Rachel Berry."

_Well, look at that. Her name isn't _just _Berry_, Quinn thought. "Okay? Nice to meet you?"

'Rachel' laughs, and even her happiness is beautiful. It flows, like a smooth-sailing river free of rocks and boulders that might chop the waters that flow along its wake. "It is only common courtesy to introduce yourself too, you know." She teases with a smile. "Or did your father not teach you that?"

"My father taught me a lot of things, but being polite isn't one of them." Quinn responds easily. "It's something I had to learn by myself."

A beat passes and Quinn has yet to say anything. From those thirty seconds, Quinn manages to draw out the fact that this 'Rachel' girl is a very impatient being. The way her features scrunch up into a ball of frown is enough indication for that.

"Quinn," Quinn says.

"What?"

"That's my name. Quinn."

"O-oh! I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Quinn! Now, would you like to join me for a cup of coffee and a mid-afternoon snack? There is a place…"

Quinn looks ahead, past 'Rachel's' head, gauging the distance that she can sprint and avoid the girl for the rest of her young life. As her duty as a music-loving girl, Quinn appreciates 'Rachel's' voice, but that is it. 'Rachel' talks too much, and Quinn isn't in the mood of losing her ear in the midst of all the stories.

"Sorry Rachel," Quinn sighs, opting to take the polite way out of this predicament. "I would love to but I have a meeting in…" she checks her watch and frowns. "…approximately ten minutes. Maybe when I see you around, I'd drink that coffee with you." She isn't lying, she really does have to be somewhere, but not 'till an hour later. Still, it doesn't hurt to be early, right? Right.

A smile is Quinn's number one weapon of evasion and she is never afraid to use it. She flashes 'Rachel' her patented, Quinn-Fabray-is-an-honest-angel smile and departs, faster than what is deemed appropriate for a polite exit, but she manages to depart nonetheless.

However, a tiny monster, nibbling at the back of her mind wishes that she meets 'Rachel Berry' again.

And soon.

* * *

><p><em>How was it? Good? Bad? Do you even ship Faberry?<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_I did not expect that much enthusiasm when I posted this last night! Thanks to those who reviewed, and I won't be opposed to more :)_

* * *

><p>The 'meeting' that Quinn means to go to is scheduled at three o'clock in some secluded café where the owner is barely managing to scrape up enough cash for the sky-high price of rent. Quinn likes secluded cafés for the reason that they are <em>secluded<em>. No such thing as Wi-Fi, yes, but that is a minor discomfort compared to the silence of a public place brings.

A bell announces her presence, and the man behind the counter looks up with a small scowl that looks permanent. Quinn asks for a tall cup of the only coffee they offer and possibly a biscuit but that is it. She is struggling enough already. She can't afford these luxuries.

She settles herself in a corner, only to be seen if you are truly looking. She believes that the best things in life are the ones that you don't have to look for, which is why she hides. A self-depreciating philosophy, but she finds it as the absolute truth.

She has other truths too, but she doesn't like announcing it like the six o'clock breaking news.

The counter man places the coffee and biscuit before Quinn and she smiles her thanks before paying. Quinn takes out her notebook, the one she manhandled as she watched 'Rachel' sing, and sets it on the table. Here, in public, she edits. She allows outside influences, the noise of the universe, lead her to the easy, free-falling path of prose and words that solidifies existences with the permanent tattoo of a pen on paper.

She speeds past the first two pages, reliving the moment of 'Rachel's' voice filling the walls of the theatre. Quinn feels herself shiver, until a hand drapes itself around her shoulders.

"Sam!" The bleach blond grins and takes the seat beside Quinn with his own coffee in hand. "How are you, my illegitimate half-brother?"

The illegitimate half-brother rolls his eyes and kisses Quinn on the forehead. The two of them share Russell Fabray's genes, which Quinn admits, does them well on the appearances department, and possibly the musical department. Their shared father may not be the best man, but he sure does have great genes.

"We're getting there," Sam responds, and by 'we', he means his band, the Hot Chelle Rae. "We landed another gig for next week! How about you, my illicit half-sister? How are you faring?"

Quinn shrugs. If there is anything that she hates, it is talking about her career, which might as well be non-existent. "It is what it is, Samuel."

"Code for 'I don't want to talk', got it." Sam smirks and drinks the rest of his drink. "You _are_ watching my band though, right?"

"Other than the incredibly pop-y tunes and almost unnecessary back-up vocals, yes I will watch." Quinn replies. "But only if you get me free tickets."

"Free loader." Sam mumbles, kicking Quinn from below the table.

"Fake blond."

"Irrelevant!" He accuses with a pout. "How are you dealing without Kim?"

Quinn freezes mid-sip and her eyes narrow to leer at her half-brother. "What are you talking about?"

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Look Quinn, I'm pretty but I'm not dumb. I can tell from your phone voice that you guys broke up. And have you _seen _yourself lately? You look like a llama chewed you up and spat you back out."

Quinn grips her mug tightly. Another thing she hates to talk about: past relationships. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But you have to!" Sam whines, playing off the magnetism that comes from his thick lips, making them protrude like a hooked salmon, pink and fleshy. "I tell you about my relationship problems, why won't you tell me yours?"

"I don't even ask about your problems!" Quinn banters, frustration increasing by mile a minute. She was never a patient person, Sam knows this. "Sam, I'm not ready to talk about it, okay? I can _write _about it, but I can't _talk _about it. I-it's too raw… I can still hear her breakup speech in my head."

"Can I read what you wrote then?" Sam quips with a broad grin. "That way you don't have to talk!"

Quinn gawks at her half-brother. "Sam! That's _private_!"

Sam rolls his eyes. "This is why you will never get published. Everything is too _private_ for you! Watch, you'll end up not publishing a _thing_ by the time you're fifty because everything is too private, too revealing-!"

Quinn shoots up from her seat, and without even bothering to look back, she departs.

* * *

><p>The temperature drop is steady as Quinn walks to her current place of employment, which is a used bookstore sandwiched in between a record store and a tattoo parlour. The smell of drying ink is in the air when Quinn walks in and notices Mike dancing along to the record that is playing, as he arranges the Young Adult section alphabetically.<p>

"Hey Mike," Quinn greets him with a smile. She dumps her purse behind the counter and wears the apron that emblazons her name with golden thread.

"Oh, what's up lady?" Mike beams, flailing his arms about. "I know you love your job, but I think being thirty six hours too early for your shift is a bit excessive. And Pierre doesn't pay us extra."

"I know." Quinn shrugs, taking out a book from the shelf and she sits down to read. "I just need to get away from Sam."

"He's here?" Mike chuckles as he dusts along the selves while he moonwalks. "How's his internet fame coming along?"

"From my ten minute conversation with him, I say it's just making his lips extra fat." Quinn mutters.

"Wow, someone's a bitter lady." Mike chuckles. "Tell me what's wrong?"

As Quinn vomits out her frustrations to Mike through speech, she can't help but feel the melodic pang that echoes against the restrictions of her chest. Memories from three weeks ago lasts for three years for Quinn, and something as deliriously painful as this might last her the lifetime. She remembers Kim, her first ex-girlfriend, the one that hollowed out the space in her heart that used to be filled with _something_, what that was, Quinn does not remember.

"You know what will cheer you up?" Mike asks as soon as Quinn finishes emptying out her head.

"A locked apartment, scented candles, my typewriter, and some alcohol?"

"You're close with the alcohol part, but not so much for the other three." The Asian man grins, slinging his arm around Quinn's frail shoulder. "You and I will make a trip to our favourite bar slash entertainment establishment, get drunk and watch some singer who wants to be discovered by a sad hoot of a producer. What do you say?"

"I say, prepare for some alcohol poisoning." Quinn grins, feeling content—hollow, but content—for the first time since that day three weeks ago.

* * *

><p>Mike shoos Quinn away so she could get ready for the night ahead of them. She rolls her eyes as the glass door slams shut but instead of heading back to her apartment, she enters the record store. There are a handful of people browsing through the record bin, so she makes her way to the songbooks instead.<p>

She notices the Adele songbook, so she reaches for it. A hand darts out towards the same direction, and as soon as Quinn's fingers graze against the cover, it is yanked out from her grasp. Quinn turns around to see who just hand-blocked her.

"You know, one would start to think that you're stalking me."

It is 'Rachel'.

"Ack." Quinn mutters. "Is this fate or what?"

"I'd like to think so." 'Rachel' beams up at her as she rocks on the balls of her feet. "So, you were going to look at this?" She flips through the songbook and stops at a certain song. "How about we take it for a spin?"

"You're mad," Quinn sing-songs.

"Yes, but all the best people are." 'Rachel' says, tugging Quinn's arm and leading her towards the small piano in the corner of the store. She sits down, pulling Quinn down with her.

"So, I don't really know how to play the piano. Can I assume that you are capable?" 'Rachel' asks with an innocent smile. Quinn rolls her eyes but poises her hands on top of the ivory keys of the upright. From the corner of her eyes, she notices the way 'Rachel' lights up as she positions herself.

I've made up my mind  
>Don't need to think it over<br>If I'm wrong, I am right  
>Don't need to look no further<br>This ain't lust  
>I know this is love<p>

'Rachel' isn't using her powerful voice from when Quinn first heard her. Rather, the way the song spills from her lips is comparable to the warmth of a hug, the cool breeze during the hottest summer day. In contrast to the light melody coming from the piano, 'Rachel's' soft crooning is divine.

Should I give up  
>Or should I just keep on chasing pavements<br>Even if it leads nowhere?  
>Or would it be a waste<br>Even if I knew my place  
>Should I leave it there?<br>Should I give up  
>Or should I just keep on chasing pavements<br>Even if it leads nowhere?

Quinn is watching 'Rachel' now, her fingers moving on their own accord. 'Rachel' looks right back at her and smiles. Quinn berates herself about the rapid fluttering in her stomach, leading her to question if she ate living hawks for breakfast.

Should I give up  
>Or should I just keep on chasing pavements<br>Even if it leads nowhere?

The last tone rings out and Quinn is blushing. 'Rachel' is slightly breathless, her chest rising and falling, mesmerizing Quinn with every move the brunette's muscle makes. The blonde makes the drastic mistake of looking into the subterranean pools of brown before falling in.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Quinn bolts up from her seat and does what she does best.

She runs.

* * *

><p><em>Ack! Quinn! No!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Another update? I'm starting to think that my life is revolving around nothing but this story! But how about some responses to your awesome reviews?_

_PhoebexMiley: If my Hufflepuff skills are correct, Hot Chelle Rae is Chord Overstreet's brother's band. They sound similar to The Click Five, so if pop rock is your thing, listen to them!_

_dreamupfalldown: Thank you! I might take you up on that advice, but I won't hold my breath. And is it weird that yes, we are similar in the 'truth' department? Excuse me as I live through words and characters that only exist in the virtual realm of television :) ._

_To the rest of my rockin' awesome reviewers: you guys are oh so lovely and I love your very existence. That is all._

* * *

><p>Quinn is both relieved and infuriated when she left through the doors of the record store. She walks with a brisk pace much like every New Yorker. But it isn't just as if she has to head to the subway and take the earliest train back home. No, this time, she is also running away from a girl because right now? Right now, she can't deal.<p>

Quinn lives at a six-story apartment that is squeezed in between other apartment buildings. Her apartment overlooks a park and a baseball field, which means that the sounds of children laughing are abundant as soon as she rounds off the corner from the subway station. She walks down the slope of her street, passing by the supermarket, the stench of rotting vegetables thick in the air. Another twenty paces takes her to the newspaper stand where she buys the latest New Yorker with the change in her pocket, until she reaches her building.

She opts to take the stairs today, so she climbs, two at a time, until she is panting. _I should start jogging_, she mumbles, before reaching her apartment door: 406.

The answering machine announces that she has two messages, one from her mother and another from Sam, apologizing about the boundary that he overstepped earlier that day, and if she isn't so pissed, would she like to meet up for dinner the next day with him paying.

Quinn slumps against her couch with a sigh. Fumbling for her phone, she dials Mike's number.

"Hey Mike, Quinn. I can't make it tonight. I forgot I have a deadline. Maybe next week or something, okay? Sorry about that. Say hi to Tina for me. Bye."

She hangs up before Mike manages to get a word in, and completely turns her phone off. Tonight, she will attempt, once more, to eradicate Kim from her very bones so she will be free of guilt for feeling such things for a girl named 'Rachel'. She glances at her Royal Arrow, the ancient typewriter that Kim bought her for her twenty-third birthday.

She remembers how much she loves—_loved_—the girl.

Quinn used to be in love once before. With a girl named Kim, who had dark hair and dark eyes that spoke of a million things all at once. They were friends before they were lovers, the best way to start a relationship, and probably the worst way to end one. They were both shy and quiet. Both opted to stay at home and play Scrabble or read. Quinn thinks that Kim was the source of her unending love for words, for which she is grateful for.

One would assume that they were perfect for one another, and it may have been true, once upon a midnight dreary.

But that was before Quinn began to fall in love with a girl that did not exist.

That was what Kim said, with the softness that her voice allowed. Quinn is falling in love again, and this time, it was not with Kim. Quinn didn't know what she was talking about, but she allowed the tangible girl to fall from her grasp and leave the apartment without calling out her name.

For three weeks, Quinn thought about what Kim meant. What's it like, falling in love with a girl that you don't even know existed? What does it look like, from an outsider's point of view, to be in a relationship, happy and in love, but not with the one you're with?

So, Quinn sits on the rickety chair in front of her typewriter, allowing her to consume the scenery of the grey New York skies. A soft breeze courses through her, and it is enough to fill her with the strength to pound away on the giant hunk of metal poised on her coffee table. She slams her fingers on to the silver-lined keys, exhausting both her body and her mind.

Hours pass by, but Quinn does not care.

When she presses the period key for the final time, she sighs. A breathe of both relief and trepidation, she runs her fingers against the dried ink upon the page.

She finally finds the answer.

* * *

><p>Quinn thinks that her coffee addiction is becoming way out of hand as she steps into her shoes and exits her apartment for her post-writing coffee fix. She approaches a small bakery and greets the girl behind the counter. She asks for a hazelnut coffee and smiles as soon as her fingers enclose around the warm cup.<p>

As soon as she turns around, her vision is filled with brown, and her nostrils are assaulted by the mixed scent of lavender and cocoa butter.

"Quinn!"

Ah, what a familiar yet strange voice. Quinn steps back to see.

'Rachel', once again.

_ What is going on? _Quinn wails in her mind. _Is this some kind of joke, universe? Three times in a day? Do you hate me or something?_

She does not realize that she said those things out loud, if not for the mildly offended look that graces 'Rachel's' face.

"Must I cling on to your arm should you run away again?"

"What?" Quinn asks, eyes widening at the curious statement. "No! I was just... I had a stomach...ache?" She trails off lamely.

"In the middle of our conversation? Due to what?"

"...unforeseen circumstances. And really big tacos." Quinn mutters. _It's not my fault you give me eagles in my stomach every time I see you. . Or was it hawks?_ "I'm sorry, okay? My stomach started feeling bad and I had to leave."

"Did you eat something bad recently?" 'Rachel' asks as she orders her coffee and a slice of cake from the girl behind the counter who is watching them in bemusement.

"What? Why?"

"Well, since this is the third time we met purely out of coincidence, I was going to ask if you want to have a coffee date with me." 'Rachel' thanks the girl with a wide smile and motions for Quinn to follow her out of the store and to the streets. They fall into step beside one another, the sun beginning to fall behind a fortification of thick clouds.

"...date?" Quinn deadpans, although she cannot help the fear course through her spine, if the movement of the skies are any indication of what is to come.

"As friends, of course!" Rachel laughs easily. "I wouldn't want a jealous boyfriend breaking my nose!"

"No, no boyfriend." Quinn mumbles darkly. "But I would _love_ to have coffee with you." She says before she could stop herself.

Was it a Freudian slip? Quinn doesn't know.

* * *

><p>It is in the middle of their conversation, did Quinn decide to drop the apostrophes that encases Rachel's name. She is no longer a faceless grey mask in Quinn's storybook and, for some reason; Quinn welcomes the transition from utmost stranger to the potentials of familiarity.<p>

During their chat in the park across the coffee shop, Quinn listens to Rachel and her dynamic voice that seems to contrast with the oncoming storm that is dawning over their heads. Quinn hears about Rachel's past life living in Lima, Ohio with her two gay fathers. She talks about her friends, and being in Glee club, and finally her life in New York.

"So, what about you? You barely said three words other than 'are you serious'." Rachel pouts, and Quinn fights the urge to poke the bottom lip that protrudes in front of her. With _her_ tongue.

_Whoa, nasty, nasty Quinn!_ She berates herself mentally. _Rachel's sexuality is still in question!_

"There's not much to tell," the blonde girl confesses. "I come from a small town too, so New York was a major culture shock for me. My parents—no, my mom, actually—she was the only one who supported my desire to be in New York. And now here I am."

The core of the earth shakes, or so that is how it felt when thunder rumbles through the sky. Rachel stiffens and crushes the recycled cup in her fist as she glares at the massive grey clouds overhead.

"I should get going—" Rachel begins, but a drop falls on her forehead, only to be followed by the roar of falling rain. Quinn sits there; supressing a giggle at Rachel's stunned face.

"Come on!" Quinn yells over the sound of children splashing about in delight at the sensation of moisture against their skin. "My apartment is close by. You can stay over until the rain lets up."

Quinn takes Rachel by the hand and pulls her towards her cramped apartment. They both sigh in relief, giggling at one another's soaked states while in the privacy of her mind, Quinn appreciates the drenched shirt that clings oh _so_ deliciously against Rachel's curves.

_If her curves had a mathematical equation it would be x squared plus ten to the power of holy crap she's so hot,_ Quinn thinks as she offers a towel to Rachel who accepted it with a soft 'thank you'. In an attempt to calm herself, Quinn heads to the kitchen and turns on the electric kettle for some tea.

"Oh wow," she hears Rachel whisper from the small distance that separates her living room couch to her kitchen. "Quinn, you're amazing."

The blonde's brow lifts in question, and Rachel holds up the black Oxford portfolio, a present from Sam before she graduated and left their hometown. The binder was filled with Quinn's stories and poetry. The way Rachel's eyes dance along the page is enough to make Quinn nervous, biting her lip as she watches Rachel's tiniest reactions.

"You have a way with words." Rachel states so simply that Quinn believes it in the same instance that it left her lips. "Are you published?"

Quinn pours out two cups of steaming water and places a peppermint tea bag in each. "A few literary journals here and there and sometimes on the New Yorker. It's not much."

"It should be." Rachel mutters as she accepts the cup. "Mmm, peppermint! I like."

"Good. That's the only tea I have." Quinn grins. "You should take your clothes off." At Rachel's amused smirk, Quinn explodes into a flurry of words and excuses. "I… that's not what I—"

"Calm down, Quinn." Rachel giggles. "I know what you mean."

_No you don't._ "Umm, you can go to my room. The bathroom is in there so you can shower and clothes are on the drawer over there," Quinn points at the bureau by her four-poster bed. It was there since she moved in. "I'll be… Out here."

Rachel leaps to her feet and enters Quinn's room. The owner of the apartment slams her forehead against the railing that separates the foyer from the living room. When the noise of the water coursing through the pipes rumble angrily against the walls of her flat, so does the white-hot sparks of images in Quinn's mind.

_Curse you, writer mind,_ she hisses bitterly against the rim of her mug. _Why must you be so vivid?_

Quinn's eyes flutter to an almost-close, a mistake that causes the images to become clearer, more defined, more… well… _dirtier._ Rachel's caramel skin, free of tan lines, as the water falls, creates an art form only known through droplets and skin. Rachel's hand, travelling down, down, _down_, and Quinn shivers.

_ Quinn Elizabeth Fabray, you are an unholy pervert!_ She scolds herself, clenching her fists and biting her tongue to prevent a moan that is making its escape from her lips. _Rachel trusts you not to do anything, you big gaymo! And whatever happened to moving on _slowly?

The showerhead cranks and shuts off, and Quinn hears every movement that Rachel makes. From the dripped padding of her feet to the towel rustling, Quinn—for the umpteenth time that day—curses herself.

The ceiling suddenly becomes so interesting, and Quinn stares. She notices that the paint splotches have certain images and shapes. She spots a lamb, a jack-o-lantern face and _Rachel_.

_Holy hell, Fabray._ "You, miss, are a pervert."

"Who's a pervert?"

A loud crash erupts from Quinn, jumping at the sound of Rachel's voice, thus resulting to a thud and the stack of TV guides littering the floor. The blonde scowls at the brunette, who laughs against the towel draped over her shoulders, approaching with a hand in front of her.

"Aren't you a graceful lady," Rachel snickers, pulling Quinn up to her feet.

"I am, aren't I?" Quinn scoffs haughtily. "Did you have a good shower?"

Rachel beams and nods. "Yes! I love your body wash! It smells _so_ good!" Quinn raises both of her eyebrows and looks away awkwardly as Rachel smells her thick brown locks. "Here, smell it!"

"Rachel, I think I know what my _own_ body wash smells like—"

But of course, Rachel will have none of it. She takes a step forth and lifts her chocolate hair for Quinn to take a whiff of. Turns out, Rachel has no need for that. Quinn has a nose of a hound, after all.

There is something so _personal_ about smelling your signature scent against someone's skin, specifically off the skin of a girl you are popping metaphysical boners for. It is as if the person in question is invading your personal space (in Rachel's case this is so) and taking over your own skin, even. It is true that there are a million other people who use the same evergreen body wash in the state of New York _alone_. But it is the idea of Rachel using the same content from the same bottle that Quinn grasps on a nightly basis that drives the desperate writer with want.

It is as if Rachel is one with Quinn.

"I should… go… take… my shower…" Quinn mumbles, trying her hardest not to breathe in deep, not to wallow in the mixture of Rachel's unique scent and her store-bought one. "Yeah, that sounds… good."

"…okay." Rachel answers, but she does not take a step away.

"There are some snacks in the kitchen if you want." Quinn's voice is now a mere rumble against the back of her throat.

"…okay." Rachel repeats.

"Okay," Quinn repeats after her, hesitating before taking her leave.

Once her bedroom door closes, Quinn slumps against it the wall, relishing in the pain that is jabbing at her lower back. She palms her face with her hands and, in a prayer to any cosmic power that is mocking her in the face right at the very moment, wishes for the rain to cease.

_Because if not, so help me universe, I will not be held responsible for my actions_, Quinn swears into the atmosphere.

Yet at the same time, she wishes for another scene from Noah's Ark to grace New York.

* * *

><p><em>I think that's your cue? Oh, cue to what? Well, to review! (yes, yes, I amuse myself with rhymes:)<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys! Here's chapter four, and thanks to those who reviewed on the past chapters!_

* * *

><p>After Quinn's shower, she returns to the living room where Rachel is watching cartoons, giggling while she does so. Quinn makes her way to her desk when Rachel demands that she occupies the seat beside her and watch some cartoons. The blonde, arguing that it is merely her being a good host, redirects her path so she lands on the soft couch next to the brunette. As if she is inclined to do so, the brunette shifts and leans in against Quinn's warm body.<p>

Quinn almost freezes in shock, but endless days of controlling her reactions have her doing nothing.

"What would you like for dinner?" Quinn asks.

"Whatever you usually have." Rachel responds.

"You want some cup noodles and toast?" The blonde grins. She stands up to prepare the hot water for their meal. "Be right back. Go watch this…" She makes a flailing motion with her arm. "Whatever this is."

Rachel giggles and turns off the television. "I wanna watch you cook."

"Rachel, it's not 'cooking' anything. I'm just boiling water and toasting bread."

"Oh hush. Let me observe how writers live."

Quinn rolls her eyes at this. "We're normal people, you know. We laugh, sing and dance the way a grocery store cashier does. We just… tend to be sadder than most people."

Rachel looks up at Quinn's eyes in curiosity. "Why's that?"

"If there's no such thing as sadness, what's there to write?"

* * *

><p>Quinn fills the electronic kettle with water and toasts some bread. After the two-minute activity, she leans against the counter, cocking her sculpted brow at Rachel who is still watching in bemusement, a small smile gracing her pink lips.<p>

"See, told you its barely cooking anything."

Rachel shrugs. "From those two minutes, I found out that you have a faulty toaster."

"Nothing I can do about that."

"I've been meaning to ask…" Rachel stands up and leans against the counter, copying Quinn's pose. "Why did you decide to become a writer?"

"Believe it or not, it's not something I've always wanted."

"Oh? What did you want to be before then?"

"An astronomer."

Rachel perks up at this. "You wanted to study the stars?"

Quinn nods and wipes the counter clean of the bread crumbs. "I was seven. My friends took me to an impromptu camping trip. There was a clearing and we simply laid there, backs against the grass and facing the heavens. My friend taught me the basic constellations, like the big dipper and stuff. She told me that there is a star out there, waiting to be found by me and only me." Quinn feels her cheek twitch at the memory. "After that, I started watching the night sky. I even mapped out the view from my window."

"That's dedication." Rachel comments. "Did you find it yet?"

"Find what, my star?"

Rachel nods.

"No, not yet." Quinn sighs.

"I'm sure you will, one day."

"I hope so." Quinn smiles and peers into the cupboard. "So, what flavour do you want? I have vegetable, beef and chicken."

"Vegetable, please. I'm vegan."

* * *

><p>"You never really answered my question." Rachel pouts as she stirs her cup noodles with one hand and nibbles a buttered toast in the other. "Why did you decide to become a writer?"<p>

Quinn shrugs. "It's one of those things that just happen."

Rachel scowls. "I don't believe you."

Quinn grins. "Good."

The brunette stomps her feet impatiently. "Tell me!"

"Why do _you_ get to ask all the questions? I haven't uncovered anything from your past that could be valuable for when you become famous."

"So I see your motives, Miss Fabray." Rachel narrows her eyes with a sneer. "You're just pretending to befriend me so that I will divulge scandalous information, is that it? How repulsive! How detestable!"

"You got me, drama queen."

Rachel snickers. "So, what is it that you want to know?"

"Tell me about your love life."

"Getting down and dirty already? You move fast, Quinn."

_ I can go down and dirty on you. Right now._ Quinn thinks about the million possible responses that just went through her head. She opts for the simplest one. "Yup."

"I am currently single," _sweet! _Quinn screams in her head. "My ex-boyfriend," _noooooo!_ "was my high school sweetheart. We were always singing the solos in glee club. It turns out, just because he was my male _vocal_ lead, it doesn't mean that we fit into a relationship."

"No boyfriends during college?" Quinn hears herself ask.

"Flings, but no relationships."

"Oh."

"Will you answer my question now? Why did you become a writer?"

Quinn says nothing as she clears out the plates and the forks, dumping them in the sink. Rachel watches her from the floor where they just ate, as the blonde roots through the papery mountain that spoke of stories and poems and love letters to the girl that does not exist. Quinn sticks her hand into the pile and manages to pull out a small moleskin notebook.

"Here you go." Quinn offers it to Rachel who accepts it carefully, as if she is handling a holy text, which she might as well be. "You can't get more personal than a moleskin notebook with me." The blonde chuckles as she returns to her seat beside the shorter girl.

"What-what is this?"

"My reasons," comes the simple reply. "as to why I became a writer."

Rachel, with a care that can only be compared to the tenderness of handling a newborn infant, unsnaps the elastic that is keeping the battered notebook together. Her fingers ghost over the frayed edges of the leather book and she opens it to reveal the contents of Quinn's heart.

"It's not going to fall apart you know." Quinn says softly. "It's delicate, but it's not fragile."

"But…" Rachel sputters. "It's _your_ _journal._ It's like your _heart._"

"An accurate simile." Quinn beams. "But my heart is made of muscle, not glass." She gathers the empty cups from the table and heads to the kitchen. "I'll go make us some more tea."

Truth be told, Quinn is running away. There is nothing more threatening than watching a girl you just met twelve hours ago, open the contents of your head, your soul and most of all your heart. As she waits for the water to come to a rolling boil, Quinn wonders if this is the closest to a confession she will ever achieve.

She pours water over the teabags and returns to where Rachel is, so engrossed in the journal that she does not hear Quinn's presence until the blonde clears her throat.

"I write because there is nothing better than the assault of words." Rachel begins to read, and Quinn feels her face flush with heat and blood. "Strong words, long words, passionate words, words infused with the deepest meaning… Structures made up of letters to mean something so desperate that it travels beyond the realm of the mind. Words have the power to hurt, to tickle, to please, and to protect. Words are powerful, and given to the right person, it will create beauty and perfection that no one has ever dared to see, hear or touch."

Rachel turns her head to look up at Quinn who is avoiding her gaze, with a full blush covering her cheeks. The brunette reaches with her free hand, to tug at Quinn's chin so she will face her. "Wow."

It is a simple statement of wonder, but it is enough to make Quinn smile.

* * *

><p>"I insist, Quinn! I'm taking the couch!"<p>

"Uh, no you're not. Let me a good host and offer you my bed." Quinn huffs as she searches for some blankets in her closet.

"No! It is horrible for your back, thus wreaking havoc on your vocal chords!"

"So then why would you offer to take the couch?"

Rachel shrugs. "I knew you wouldn't allow me."

The taller girl rolls her eyes. "Okay, future Broadway star. I'm still taking the couch. I sleep more often on the couch anyways."

"Quinn, no! I will not allow the apparent destruction of vocal chords and perfect posture to happen right before my eyes. We'll sleep on the same bed, how about that?"

"That is not very wise." _Nope, not at all. Unless of course, you want me to have a permanent brain aneurysm and not sleep a wink tonight_.

"Why not?" Rachel demands.

Quinn ignores her question and makes a move to exit the bedroom only to be hindered by Rachel who pounces on her back. The brunette struggles to pull Quinn on to the bed, and when she successfully manages to do so, she pins the blonde girl with her body, her stomach flush against Quinn's.

_This is _so_ not going to end well._ "Okay, okay! Geez, violence is not the answer!"

* * *

><p>"Who is she?" Rachel asks when they are both settled under the sheets. Quinn turns to look at Rachel who is pointing at the frame on the bedside table. "I noticed that you have quite a few photos of you and her scattered in your apartment, but this is the only one of her solo."<p>

"Her name is Kim and she is the most beautiful girl I've ever met." Quinn admits with a quiet sigh. "She's one of those people who you don't see until you _truly _look. She's beautiful in that completely silent way and she showed me how to appreciate the smallest things. She deserves to have the universe in her fingertips but sadly, I'm not the one to give that to her."

"You speak highly of her." Rachel comments.

"That's because she deserves to be spoken so highly of." At Rachel's confused look, Quinn says, "she's my ex-girlfriend."

"O-oh."

"That's it. I'm sleeping on the couch."

"Quinn, no!" Rachel grabs Quinn's arm before she manages to escape from the bed. "I don't mind, okay? I have two gay dads; it's not a big deal to me if you're gay or whatever."

"Yes, but double-standards are real."

"Not for me. Come back to bed, and we won't talk about it if you don't want to."

Quinn sighs and relaxes, sinking into the cool softness of the cloudy pillow. It only takes a few moments until her consciousness begins to drop and slip into the valley of dreams, the warmth of Rachel's velveteen hands in hers is the last thing she feels.

* * *

><p><em>How was it? And who's excited for Glee next week!<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_I find this chapter relatively-short, so I apologize. Maybe when I'm not so wrapped up in school, it would be longer. Anyways... Just read on._

* * *

><p>Quinn wakes up feeling inconsiderably restricted. She tries to shift a little bit to the right but half of her body is covered by plush warmth and tan skin. When her eyes flutter open, she saw nothing but a brown mess marring her view of the outside world. Rachel is almost on top of her, their legs in a tangled mess. She is riding Quinn's thigh, arms looped around her stomach and her breath tickling the pale skin of her neck.<p>

_Help,_ Quinn implores in the silence of the new morning. _Get this girl off of me before I do anything stupid._

Quinn stares at the ceiling with a fazed look despite the hurricane coursing through her body. Not to mention the post-sleep arousal that she always experiences during the most inopportune times.

"Mmm," Rachel hums softly, the vibrations oscillating from her chest to Quinn's arm that is resting in between the valley in between the brunette's soft breasts.

_Shitshitshitshit! _Quinn laments in tune to Beethoven's 5th Symphony. "Rachel?"

This does nothing for Quinn's impending doom—or arousal, same thing for the blonde. Rachel sidles closer to Quinn, her lips grazing against the blonde's collarbone with another sigh. Quinn wonders if the smaller girl would ever wake up, and when she does, will she be opposed to go on a date with the blonde.

_No, Quinn!_ The girl scolds herself. _You masochist! She's straight, remember? No!_

"You're comfy." Rachel whispers to Quinn, her breath searing the blonde girl's throat. "And really, really warm."

"hrghmphh…"

"Quinn?" Rachel lifts her neck to peer up at the girl whose eyes are screwed shut. "What's the problem—oh."

Rachel's hand is resting on top of Quinn's lightly-clothed breast.

She's not making a move to detach it.

AND she just _squeezed._

"I am _so _sorry!" Rachel squeals, her hand shooting down and resting on top of Quinn's flat stomach instead. "I didn't—"

"It's okay," croaks Quinn, as she squeezes her thighs together. From the crack of the curtain, it can be said that Rachel will be able to leave without any fear of drowning. The sun is now shining, with a few leftover clouds spattering the blue canvas called the sky. This doesn't mean Quinn is happy, however. "Would you like some breakfast?"

* * *

><p>After a small meal of Lucky Charms and sliced bananas, Rachel suits up in her clothes from yesterday that was dried using the makeshift clothesline above Quinn's radiator. Rachel registers all of Quinn's contact information into her phone with a sordid excuse and a very convincing pout that leaves the blonde squirming in her seat.<p>

"I have another call back at ten so I guess I'll see you later?" Rachel asks as she slips on her coat. They are standing in the foyer of Quinn's building where old man Leopold is bent over, fiddling with his key ring to check the contents of his mailbox. Quinn greets him with a two-finger salute and a small smile, which the crinkled man returns.

"Aren't you bored of me yet?" Quinn jokes, even though she knows that she will cry—inside, mind you—if the answer is yes.

"Nope!"

It is a simple answer, but it is enough to make Quinn's day.

"The question is, are you—?"

"I assure you Rachel," Quinn mumbles. "I don't think I'll ever be bored of _you_." Even in her head it sounds flirtatious, but it seems that the brunette doesn't take any notice.

Rachel beams and throws her arms around Quinn's neck. "Great! Dinner tonight, this time at my place okay? Meet me at the theatre and we'll walk from there."

Quinn nods and Rachel kisses her on the cheek. The millisecond caress of Rachel's lips against her skin sends a small shock of electricity through the nerve endings of Quinn's face.

"See you later Quinn!"

Quinn waves back as she fights the grin that is trying to reign over her face.

"Ah young love." Leopold smiles and pats Quinn on the shoulder. "Must be great to be alive eh, Quinnie?"

"Yes," Quinn says, and she can't help but feel that her response was the most honest she's ever been since three weeks ago.

* * *

><p>Quinn spends her morning rearranging the thick wads of paper in her apartment into a nice, teetering pile beside her desk. A light jog and a bottle of apple juice later, she arrives at the bookstore, where Mike is already sweeping the surrounding pavement. He spots Quinn from a distance and he waves.<p>

"Hey Quinn! What happened yesterday?" Mike demands with a playful scowl crumpling his tanned face. "Tina got worried, said that you could be hurt. What gives?"

Quinn shrugs and slips on her apron. "A friend came over last night."

Mike nods slowly. "Uh-huh… Is this 'friend' of yours real or just fantasy?"

"She's real, Mike." Quinn laughs.

"Oho! So it is a girl! Finally! I was beginning to think you were planning on becoming a hermit. Or a nun. So, tell me about her! Is she pretty? Smart? What does she do for a living?"

"If you think about it I _am_ a hermit." The blonde girl comments as she runs her hands against the spines of the new arrivals that clutter the entryway. "Her name is Rachel and she's gorgeous."

"Wait, Rachel? Is her last name, by any chance, a fruit?" Mike asks in wonder. Quinn looks at him and nods. "Oh, so it's _that_ Rachel. She and Tina are cast mates in that last musical they did. What was it, Next to Normal, I think?"

"I didn't recognize her." Quinn frowns.

"That's because you fell asleep halfway through the show, Quinn."

* * *

><p>After Quinn's shift, she rides the subway to where Vineyard Theatre is located. She slips in through the crack of the door and watches as Rachel Berry dominates the stage once more, with her powerful vocals. This time, she is singing 'Mama Who Bore Me' and if Quinn has something to say, Rachel rivals the original cast. She sits down on one of the middle row seats and stares.<p>

"Okay, okay stop!" Quinn recognizes it to be Lucas. "You know what? Stop!"

Rachel cut off mid-note and clears her throat. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes!" Lucas shrieks, standing up and flailing his arms about. "I don't even know why I have these moronic call backs. Honestly, I don't know." Rachel remains silent but Quinn notices the slight tremble of her raised chin. "You," he points at Rachel. "…are better than all of these wannabes combined."

"What?"

"You heard me!" Lucas snaps at the other three girls who were called back. "I made up my mind. Berry will be the new Wendla Bergman by the time this revival musical is over and done with!"

Quinn claps when Rachel bounds off the stage and pummelling herself into her arms. Quinn swings Rachel about as she giggles the butterflies in her stomach away. Quinn feels the pride swell deep within her, and of course she feels the need to voice it out loud.

"I'm so proud of you." Quinn beams. "Spring Awakening is one of my favourite musicals. You're going to kill Wendla's part."

"I hope so." Rachel beams, still flustered at her success. "I have to go call my dads soon, but before that… Celebratory dinner at my place!"

"Wait, wait…" Quinn stops Rachel from darting out of the theatre with her hand clasped so firmly in a vice grip that is numbing Quinn's fingertips. "Don't you have anyone else to share this piece of information with? I mean, we _just_ met."

"I do," Rachel says simply. "Theatre class friends, coworkers from past plays… I can share this with them but that is out of professionalism. But I want to share this with _you_ because you like me for me, and not just for my talent, Quinn."

_I like you for other things too…_ "I see," Quinn smiles. And this time, she lets Rachel drag her away without a fight.

* * *

><p><em>Glee is this Tuesday, right? Time for Faberry!<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Please don't tell me that I'm the only one here who thinks that the new episode last night was just a giant ball of sucky filler? Honestly though! I am annoyed! If it weren't for Lea Michele and Dianna Agron, I wouldn't be watching Glee. Especially because I live a Rachel Berry Appreciation Life._

_Anyways, I told myself I'll post this chapter on Friday, but I realize that this fandom needs all the love it could get. Especially since RIB won't give us what we want, hmph._

* * *

><p>Rachel's apartment is slightly bigger than Quinn's, and it is closer to the heart of New York. From the fifth floor, Quinn can hear the bustle of the city streets and the angry taxi cab drivers yelling for stealing one another's customers. The blonde rests against the windowsill, looking past the black asphalt and to the city skyline beyond. The brunette appears before her with two cups of coffee in her hand. Soft jazz is playing in the background.<p>

"Thanks," Quinn smiles, accepting the cup and taking a long sip. "Mmm, what is this? Colombian?"

"Yep," Rachel nods. "Dinner will be in half an hour. You could watch some TV or something."

Quinn nods and walks immediately to the bookshelf. Her literary eye starts from the upper right hand, and then travels to the left. She notices Rachel's penchant for romantic novels and general fiction, appreciating how the books are arranged according to genre and then according to author. Quinn smiles at the sheer volume of sheet music compilations and pauses before the sparse amount poetry collections. She freezes before Neruda, Pablo.

"Does my bookshelf receive your approval?" Rachel asks playfully from the doorway leading into the kitchen.

"If you have the Essential Pablo Neruda Collection, I'm ready to jump into bed with you any day."

"Quinn, we're past that remember?" Rachel giggles, and only then does the writer realize what she just said. "He's your favourite poet, isn't he? I can tell."

She nods and Rachel smiles back. Quinn continues to look at every spine of every book until she reaches the middle shelf where a portrait is resting. From the backdrop of instruments and the amount of people, Quinn assumes that it is of Rachel's glee club.

"You guys look happy." Quinn comments softly, picking up the frame and looking into it. She notices the arm around Rachel's shoulders and the widest grin to ever grace her face.

"By its very definition, glee is about opening yourself up to joy." Rachel says with a small smile dancing across her lips. "That picture is the best memory I have of high school. I'm not exactly… _popular_. In fact, glee club is the place for misfits. Some of us are popular, but being in glee club earns them their fair share of slushy facials."

"Slushy facials…?" Quinn asks warily.

"Basically a giant cup of Gulp slapped across your face every morning." Rachel shrugs. "I got over it. I'm in New York now, and I bet you that the jocks and cheerleaders that even dared to throw slushies on my face are still in Lima, working some lame job and reminiscing about their high school days, seeing as those were the best days of their lives."

Quinn smiles at how worked up Rachel is. "I'll take your word for it. I just feel bad because I'm friends with the popular kids. My best friends were the rulers of the school while I'm the English nerd and the president of the literary club."

"What?" Rachel shrieks in amusement. "How does that happen? What kind of a high school hierarchy does your school use to operate? Fairness and equality?"

The blonde giggles and shakes her head. "Not exactly. They were my best friends since we were five and it carryovered into high school. That and I will never let them live it down if they ever pulled away from me and Kim. We're a quad, and we promised to stay like so," Quinn pauses and gulps. "Well, until stuff happened at least…"

Rachel pats Quinn on the back and sighs. "Enough about our years of hell, let's go eat!"

* * *

><p>After a delicious meal of pasta with pesto sauce and homemade garlic bread, Quinn helps Rachel with the dishes, which resulted into a wild giggling fight with suds. Rachel blows a handful of soap towards Quinn, and in a laughing, trembling mess, she tries to run away. Quinn smirks and grabs her by the waist and dumps another clump of suds over her soaked head.<p>

"Quinn!" Rachel shrieks. "That's not fair!"

"What's not fair?" The blonde asks innocently. "Stop squirming, you're making me—oh!"

Rachel is fighting Quinn's grip around her body too much that the taller girl steps on a soapy patch on the ground, thus sending her sprawled across the wet kitchen floor. But, of course that's not all.

Quinn's arms are still around Rachel's waist, where the brunette is straddling her.

"Are you okay, Quinn?" Rachel demands, making a move to get up and off the girl that is sprawled on her kitchen floor, but the hold on her hips prevents her from doing so. "Quinn?"

"I'm fine," she replies, but she doesn't remove her embrace. "I'm good."

"Quinn, you need to get off the floor. You might have a bump on your head." Rachel says, but is not fighting with her position anymore. If anything, Quinn swears that Rachel relaxed against her tummy and that if her metaphysical boner is indeed, physical, it would be rubbing against Rachel's back.

But it doesn't exist, so all is good for Quinn.

"My back is wet." Quinn states. "And it's freezing."

"Get up then, so you can change your shirt. Hurry, before you catch a cold!"

Quinn grunts and sits up, so now Rachel is sitting on her lap. Her head is throbbing but she ignores it, and instead rests her forehead against the shorter girl's clavicle. Rachel smells slightly of garlic, pesto sauce and her body wash. Quinn couldn't figure out what the exact scent was, but it smells good.

"My head hurts," she whimpers against Rachel's skin.

"You hit your head pretty hard," Rachel murmurs, fingers threading into the strands of blonde hair that fell against Quinn's back. "There's a bump forming over here…" she grazes her fingertips against a spot that made Quinn hiss. "I need to get some ice and you need to move to the couch."

"Noooo," Quinn whines, her hold tightening against Rachel's curvaceous body. "You're comfy. And moving would require me to exert too much effort."

"Quinn, please." Rachel pleads, kissing her sweating forehead before prying the grip around her waist carefully. "Come on, I promise I'll sit on your lap once you move back on the couch."

"Promise…?" Quinn mumbles, her lips moving against Rachel's neck, causing her to shiver.

"I-I promise." Rachel says, clearing her throat as she moves away slowly. "The sooner you're on the couch, the sooner I'm on your lap, darling."

Quinn stands up, her movements are sluggish and she is having difficulty walking in a straight line. Rachel finds an ice pack in her freezer, and then she assists Quinn on to the couch. The concussed girl falls on it without preamble, and pulls Rachel with brute force back on to her lap. If not for the pain that Quinn is experiencing, Rachel would have laughed at her antics. Instead, she places the ice pack on the back of the blonde's head as she hums a soothing tune.

"Can you sing 'I Can Hear the Bells'?" Quinn asks, her plea muffled against Rachel's shirt.

"The song from Hairspray?" Rachel asks. Feeling Quinn nod, she brings up the song in her head and recalls the lyrics. Remembering the first verse and the chorus, she tucks a lock of hair behind Quinn's ear and begins. "I can hear the bells. Well, don't you hear 'em chime? Can't you feel my heartbeat keeping perfect time?" Quinn grins and nods. "And all because he… touched me."

Quinn starts to sway them to and fro, making Rachel chuckle. "He looked at me and stared. Yes he bumped me. My heart was unprepared when he, tapped me, and knocked me off my feet. One little touch now my life's complete cause he—"

"Thinking about it now," Quinn mutters with her words in a messy slur. "Link is such a weird name for a popular guy. Isn't Link the hero of Hyrule? Since when did he dance like a pro? I mean, he can dance the Goron and the Subrosian dance but—"

"Quinn, honey." Rachel cuts her off with an amused smirk. "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you played Legend of Zelda?" Quinn asks incredulously. Her eyes are shut but there is a frown across her forehead. "That is like, my childhood. You missed out, Rachey. You need to play that game! It's awesome! I'll ask Mike to lend me Oracle of Seasons because it's easier and the Subrosians are cooler than the Gorons anyway."

"Sure Quinn." Rachel nods along with a laugh. "Let's see if you remember that by tomorrow, okay?"

* * *

><p>Quinn wakes up feeling disoriented and feeling as if she is lost. The ceiling is unfamiliar—it is littered with glow-in-the-dark stars. She tries to shift to the left but the other half of her body is hindered once more. Rachel is lying on top of her again, in the same position she woke up in the day before.<p>

_What happened? I remember dinner and—ow!_

She groans; the throbbing against the back of her head is dull but continuous. It is pulsing, like a toad breathing in and out. She feels the blood thrumming against the walls of her skull. It is uncomfortable. She squirms beneath Rachel, who is pinning her down with her very, _very_ soft body. _If I move _just_ a bit to the right…_

Alas, Quinn's plan to get away from Rachel's luscious frame shatters as soon as she lifts her knee, creating contact against Rachel's centre. Quinn feels the heat radiating from the skimpy fabric of Rachel's shorts. It earns a deep and toe-curling moan from Rachel, making Quinn shiver violently.

Her movements rouses Rachel to wake up with an expression that can only explained as aroused. Her pupils are blown, and her breathing is irregular. She pulls herself up to view Quinn's face, a look that conveys hunger. Fear strikes the blonde, but it isn't the fear that makes her want to run away. Rather, it is the type of fear that draws her in, closer and closer until—

_NO!_

Quinn jerks back with and gently pushes Rachel away. She ignores the hurt across Rachel's face as she swings her legs off the bed, her skull in her hand.

"Quinn…"

"No," Quinn croaks weakly. "I can't stay for long, Rachel."

"Why?" Rachel pleads. "Quinn, what's going on?"

"You wouldn't understand." The blonde smiles bitterly. She's been in this island before, where the object of her affections, the 'beloved', acts as if she is perfectly fine with… with whatever _this_ is. But knowing humanity and society as a whole, it's never fine. It's always going to be awkward. _**Always.**_

"Try me."

"Rachel…" Quinn warns. "Rachel, I can't."

"Yes you can," Rachel encourages, her fingers surrounding the pastel skin of Quinn's forearm. "You're good with words, Quinn. Stop running away and tell me what's wrong. Did I do something? Whatever it is, I'm sorry." She grasps the blonde tighter, pulling her close to her own frame. "Quinn…"

"It's not that you did something _wrong_," Quinn whispers. "But it's your existence, Rachel. Your mere existence is the sweetest candy that is deteriorating my health." She chuckles before prying the brunette's slender digits from her arm and lifting it to brush against the knuckles against her lips. "You're sweet and all, but too much of you will drive me insane."

"I-is that a bad thing?" Rachel asks softly. "Am I too pushy? D-did I make you uncomfortable?"

Quinn shakes her head. "It's no one's fault but mine, Rachel. I have to go."

The pulsating of her brain remains, and so does the weight of wanting the girl that will never want her back. Quinn ignores the warps and distortions of her vision as she puts on her shoes, but it soon becomes too much. She slumps against the wall, trying to regain her breathing into normal.

"Quinn, you can't leave yet! Your head—"

"Is fine," the blonde hisses. "I'm okay, Rachel."

"No you're not!" Rachel shrieks. "It is incredibly unsafe for you to attempt to go home in your condition! You may experience intense dizziness and you might trip while you're at the station! What if you fall into the train tracks!"

"Then it would save me from suffering through this." Quinn mutters darkly.

Rachel's jaw drops to say something, but a loud knock interrupts her. She reaches for the doorknob to reveal—

"Finn! What are you doing here!" Rachel demands, eyes wide open and shock in her eyes. Quinn recognizes him as the boy who had his arm around Rachel in that glee group photo of theirs. It doesn't help her headache at all.

"I just wanted to visit, Rach!" Finn beams down at the girl, shoving a bouquet of choked flowers in Rachel's arms as he sweeps the tiny diva into his arms. His voice drops into a low whisper. "Aren't you glad to see me? It's been a while since we've fu—"

"Finn!" Rachel snaps, her gaze directed at Quinn who is still holding her pounding head. "Not now, please! Go back to your hotel!"

"I don't have one." The tall man says with a frown, scratching the back of his head. "I thought I could stay with you, since you know…"

"You should've called then!" Rachel sighs in frustration. "Whatever, just—Quinn!"

The blonde couldn't take it anymore. The familiarity that Finn speaks of is taking its toll on her. She takes her coat from the closet and runs, as fast as a concussed girl can go, out of the building. Rachel's aggravated screams clawing at her heart and lungs, leaving a trail of tears in her wake.

* * *

><p><em>Haha whoops, sorry about Finn (except I'm not). He makes for good tension, don'tcha think :3? Don't forget to vote Quinn Fabray for prom queen (and to review)!<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_I had a sudden bout of teenage angst, so I wrote shit tons. Not for this chapter though, but don't worry about that. The angst comes later!_

_This is a short chapter that shows Quinn and, guess who! her ex! oh noes._

_Also, faberry duet. My. Heart. Has finally. Exploded. That is all._

* * *

><p>Quinn returns home feeling… absolutely nothing. It's not entirely possible for one to not feel a thing, but Quinn thinks that it is what she is at the moment. Hollowed out; a gaping shell. She chuckles at the irony of the situation. Rachel, who was the first person to make Quinn feel things since Kim, is—of course—the first person to tear a new hole into her chest, since Kim. But despite this concave burn searing her insides, she suffers through the dead weight that is dragging her down, until her shoes are buried halfway into the asphalt. Ah, that is what Quinn is. Quinn is burdened.<p>

Burdened with thoughts of Rachel—and Finn.

Quinn shudders at the memory, and how quick things have progressed. It's only been two days ago since they met, skipping the entire 'acquaintance' process and leaping straight into the 'friend' zone. Knowing herself however, Quinn knew she skipped that zone altogether, instead falling into the 'hopeless lover' area.

How could things develop so fast? How could Quinn allow a new being into her veins when the previous one has yet to leave? She feels overwhelmed, empty, confused… It's all too much. She closes her eyes, but all she hears is Rachel and the anguished cries that are capable of allowing regrets to surge through Quinn's pores without hesitation.

_ That's what you get, Quinn Fabray,_ Quinn thinks to herself with as much contempt her consciousness could generate. _This is why you shouldn't fall in love._

She freezes._ Am I falling in love? Is that what I am? Am I in love? With Rachel?_

Quinn scoffs. _Yeah, right. No chance. _

Questions float about in the ever-flowing stream of her mind, but when her phone rings, she is ripped apart from her thoughts. She answers it without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hi Quinn, it's me." That voice… so pleasant, so soft, so tender and so heartbreakingly familiar…

_Kim._

"H-hey Kim..! W-what's wrong?" Quinn stutters into the receiver, heart trembling against the restrictions of her esophagus. She swallows the ugly lump that burns her throat.

"Why do you sound so flustered? Are you—oh dear, am I interrupting something? Are you with someone?" Quinn hears the velvety chuckle that used to be the foundation of her good days. She remembers how the inflection of Kim's voice sends her into a spiral of joy and down the cliff of being in love. And it still does, to some extent.

"No, I'm not with anyone at the moment." She chuckles in reply. "It's just… It's been a while."

"Can you meet me?" The timidity of her request sends a spike of fear through Quinn's bones. _What if she's hurt? Is she in trouble? I wonder what's wrong! _"A-are you free? Meet me in the park at ten?"

"Okay," Quinn confirms. "I'll be there."

Quinn gathers her coat and keys, rushing out of her building with the insane beating of her chest racking inside her body. She swallows the fear down, for there is no point to be nervous for no reason. Despite the heartbreak that Kim led Quinn through, it doesn't mean that she has to be angry. She is, after all, still a friend. And to Quinn, what a friend needs, a friend gets, even if it will be awkward as hell.

Call her a selfless, masochistic idiot, but it is a truth.

* * *

><p>The park that Kim was referring to is the park of the next neighbourhood over, the first park where they held their first date. Quinn pockets her fists and walks as fast as she could without straining her calves. She sidesteps every other pedestrian, hoping to arrive at the park before Kim so that she could prepare herself for the onslaught of feelings that will haunt her when she sees the girl's face once again.<p>

She takes refuge on a park bench overlooking the murky pond. Quinn watches the geese flock about, splashing their wings against the water in a manner that conveys their frustration to one another. Quinn doesn't have to wait for a while, as Kim appears beside her with a small smile and a paper bag of cheddar cheese bagels with bacon—Quinn's favourite.

"Hey," Kim greets, grazing her lips against Quinn's defined jaw. "Long time no see."

"Yep," Quinn smiles, returning the small gesture with her own lips. "I miss you."

Kim's gaze softens and she bites her lip. "I'm sorry about that. I really am, Quinn. You know I still love you but—"

"No, I get it." Quinn laughs with a bitter undertone. "I love you too, but apparently not in the way you need me to. It just sucks," she shakes her head and sighs. "…because you practically taught me how to love, and I can't even do it right for you."

"Quinn…" Kim hums, her fingers looping around the blonde's arm. "Stop blaming yourself, okay? People fall apart."

"Not when they're so in love it's disgusting, to quote Santana." Quinn mutters, relishing the feel of delicate fingers that is rubbing against her skin.

"That reminds me…" Kim's tone drops. "San and Britt called. They said they'll be visiting this weekend and… They don't know we broke up."

"That's why you asked to meet me?" Quinn asks, cocking her brow in amusement. "Because you're scared of what Santana and Brittany will say when they find out that we broke up?"

"You'd be scared too!" Kim wails with a mock frown. "She never did grow out of her high school persona, and she's really mean when she wants to be…"

"San will be angry, but it's Brittany we have to worry about." Quinn says, sobering up at the thought of her other friend who gives the best pieces of advice when it comes to relationships. "She's the one who convinced me to stop being a weakling and tell you that my love for you rivals her love for waterfowl."

"You must've loved me a lot then." Kim grins, pinching Quinn's cheek.

"I still do."

"Quinn…" The black-haired girl before Quinn sighs.

"No, I know!" Quinn barks, but without an angry tinge in her voice. She is no longer angry, stopped being so two weeks ago. This time, she's just… _lost_, again. The remnants of the morning floats about her head, and the blunt ache returns against her cranium. "I know, Kim. We fell apart, I get it. It doesn't make it any more okay. It's like… I failed you." She sniffs and tugs at the girl's grey cardigan. Kim complies and she sidles closer against the tearful blonde, cupping her cheek in her palm.

"You didn't fail anyone, Quinn."

"I-is there someone else?" Quinn asks, looking up at Kim's dark eyes. "I just—I need to know."

"No, baby." Kim whispers against her temple. "There was no one then, and there's no one now. If there was, I would've told you. I was beginning to feel the distance between us and I noticed how you look happy but discontent. Like something is missing, you know?" Quinn does not say anything and so Kim continues. "There was a crater in your chest, a hole that I was too tiny to fill. It's still there, actually."

"How do you know me so well?" Quinn asks weakly. "How can you talk to me about being in love with someone else and accept that without being jealous or angry or possessive?"

"What's the sense of continuing a war I've won but a battle I've lost?"

Quinn sighs and rests her forehead against Kim's, who begins to lace her fingers against the golden strands of her hair. They sit in silence, allowing the familiarity between two friends—once lovers—to accommodate the gulping thirst welling deep within each other's throats. The desire to be loved, and to love someone other than the woman in their arms, is being replaced—for the moment—with friendship.

"Did you hit your head this morning?" Kim asks her gentle touch against the bulge on Quinn's head does not hurt. "You have a lump here. What have you been doing, Quinnie?"

"I slipped when I was washing the dishes," Quinn answers. It's not entirely a lie. "I'm not dizzy anymore."

"You should rest," Kim says, pecking the corner of Quinn's lips. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

Quinn does not say anything, but she allows Kim to lead the way to her own apartment. At that moment, she feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude was over her, for the woman who holds her hand with such delicacy and care that Quinn can't help but think; _I love you._

_I love you and I'm sorry I can't be the one for you._

_ I'm sorry I fell in love with a girl who doesn't exist._

_ I love you. I'm sorry._

Kim leaves Quinn by the elevator with another kiss and a lingering hug. The blonde rides the shaft and when she reaches her apartment, she notices that the answering machine is flashing a violent red. She presses the button to listen to the messages, frowning as she does so.

All are of Rachel, apologizing. Quinn can make out Finn in the background, demanding Rachel's full attention. She listens to every single message, noting how the brunette's voice evolves from calm to utter frustration. Quinn sighs and opts to text the girl to quell her flame of worries before it sets fire to her head.

_ Next time,_ Quinn promises to herself with a tired sigh. _When I see Rachel, I'll tell her why I ran. Next time._

* * *

><p><em>Before I forget... Lilmeister, I love you for leaving the longest review I've ever received! Thank you and I'm glad you like it (so far)!<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_Oh man, I'm all sorts of stoked for the 90-minute Glee episode! Can't wait to get my Faberry on, yo!_

_But anyways, it's past twelve where I live, and I go crazy when it happens. Not to mention the coffee-flavoured candies I've been eating... Anyways!_

* * *

><p>Quinn hasn't seen Rachel in two days, and it is now the morning before Brittany and Santana arrive from their hometown to visit Kim and Quinn. To say that Quinn is nervous is a severe understatement, judging from the way she is waiting with Kim in Penn Station. She is nibbling at her fingertips, sighing occasionally while looking up at the board of buses that just arrived. Kim watches in amusement while she sips her coffee.<p>

"Quinn…"

"Huh, yeah?"

"Sit down, please. What's going on? Two days ago you didn't care what Santana will say when she finds out that we broke up. Now you're wearing a hole on the ground?"

Quinn huffs and she slumps against the hard bench beside Kim. "I don't know, I guess it didn't exactly register in my head then? I mean, I _was_ concussed you know."

Kim scrunches her nose and pats Quinn on the cheek. "Yeah, I know. We won't drop the bomb just yet, how about that? We'll take them out for lunch and we'll tell them then."

"Okay." Quinn grunts.

The intercom beeps, announcing the arrival of another bus. Quinn shoots up from her chair and powerwalks towards the terminal where Santana and Brittany will be coming from.

"Q! Kimmy!" A tall blonde screams from the far end of the platform with a large suitcase and a Latina's hand in tow. "Oh my goodness! It's been like, ten years!"

"Not quite, Britt." Quinn smiles but hugs the girl anyways. "Just seven months."

"Still too long!"

"Hey Blondie." Santana cocks her head at Quinn, doing nothing else to recognize her existence. Instead, she turns around to take Kim in her strong arms. "How's my darling little braceface, huh?"

"San," Kim pouts. "I got my braces removed when we were seventeen."

"Britts and I are getting a hotel," Santana says, ignoring Kim's retort. "Obviously we can't have epic sexy times with you two hovering about. And I'm sure Q likes to get laid now and then."

"Of course," Quinn mutters, taking one of the strollers that Santana bought. "Let's go get you guys a hotel first and then we'll go out for lunch, how about it?"

"Sounds cool," Santana nods. "Oh, and as long as I'm around, I'm paying for everything this week, Q. And you can't word yourself out of this one. I don't want you dying of hunger buried in the middle of the paper wreckage you call your writing."

Before Quinn can open her lips to protest, Kim covers it with her own lips. "Quinn, let them help."

"I don't need help," Quinn hisses as she follows the other three out of Penn Station. The bustle of the crowds made arguing a difficult feat, especially since Santana and Brittany are quite the power walkers. "If I needed help, I would ask for it. I don't need your charity, Lopez!"

The girl who possesses the last name spins around and sneers at Quinn. "That's the thing, Q. You don't know what you need and what you want until your face-deep in shit. But even then you won't ask us to pull you out of it. So, you know what Q? I don't give a fuck what you think. I'll pay for whatever I want."

Quinn stands there, anger swelling inside her gut. "I don't need anything from you." She says in a whisper that it is almost impossible for the other three to hear her.

"Q…" Brittany comes up and pulls the girl's face into her chest. "You know you never have to feel indebted to me or to San. We're a family, remember? You and S are like, the badass big brothers. Kim and I are the sisters that keep you two calm. And we screw each other." The blonde stops for a second. "Is that legal?"

"It's not, B." Kim says.

"Oh, then forget it then." Brittany shrugs. "If you don't let S pay for everything, I'm going to cry. And you and S hate it when I cry."

"You don't want B to cry, right Q?" Santana hisses. "Because you know what happens when a tear escapes her perfect blue eyes."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

Brittany claps her hands together and pulls the three girls down the street.

* * *

><p>Once Brittany and Santana signed out a hotel room, the four of them walk into a diner (Brittany and Kim's choice, of course). They squeeze into a booth and began to scour the menu for a dish that will pique their appetite. While Brittany is discussing the downs of ordering chicken with Santana, Kim throws Quinn a small smile, nudging her foot from under the table.<p>

"Oh for crying out loud, stop having eye sex please." Santana groans as they wait for their food to arrive. "I fail to see the point of it when you two eat each other's faces all the freakin' time."

Quinn clears her throat and stirs her drink. "We weren't having eye sex."

"Yeah, uhuh. Sure. And I'm not a badass."

Their food arrives and it steers the conversation into a lighter note. Brittany talks about her job as a kindergarten teacher while Santana tells the table of her recent win in Nationals as their high school's cheerleading coach, replacing none other than Sue Sylvester.

"I still can't believe you replaced coach." Kim laughs as she sips her milkshake. "I feel so bad for the Cheerios of this generation."

"Hey, I don't have mandatory optional practices, just so you know."

"Ah, it's your only saving grace." Quinn smirks. "You're still a bitch, of course."

"Duh, Q. What kind of a statement is that? It's like saying you're a sap fest on legs." Santana guffaws, slamming her fist against the wooden table. "Anyways, how are you two doing? And don't give me the work crap, Kim. I heard about your high-profile photo shoot from your brother."

"I-well…" Kim's eyes dart from Santana to Quinn, who is fidgeting with her napkin. "Quinn and I…" She takes a pull of air, filling her lungs. "We're not together anymore."

There is a crash caused by a salt shaker tipping over, followed by a deafening silence within the bubble of their table. Quinn glances at Santana's reaction, which is of pure shock. Then to Brittany, who is close to tears and is clutching at her serviette with a watery frown.

"Britt…" Quinn sighs, reaching for the blonde's hand. "Britt, please don't cry."

"But Q!" The teacher wails, tears now falling off the cliff that are her smooth cheeks. "You guys were made for forever! What happened?"

Before Quinn manages a reply, Santana shoots up from her seat and walks out of the restaurant without another word, or sparing a glance towards her tearful girlfriend.

"Quinn," Kim warns the gaping writer whose eyes are trailing after the Latina. "You have to go talk to Santana. It's obvious she's not taking the news well."

Quinn nods and does as she is told, but not before pressing a kiss against Brittany's forehead, hoping that it would be enough for a brief apology. She follows her friend out of the establishment. The walls around her heart are up and ready to take a hit.

* * *

><p>"I thought you quit?" Quinn asks the coal-haired girl sip in smoke from the filter of the cigarette that is poised in between her index and middle finger. "B's going to be mad at you."<p>

"Yeah, well B is going to be sad at you. What's worse, Q?" When Quinn says nothing, Santana throws the cigarette on the pavement and crushes it with her heel. "You're probably wondering why I'm so affected by this, am I right?"

"I just don't understand." Quinn admits.

"That's because you haven't really seen yourself in a third-person point of view when you're with Kim." Santana says, looking at Quinn with a glare that speaks of her worries and her fears. "You're happy, she's happy. You are both in love. Or _were_." She spits. "What the fuck happened?"

"I…" Quinn scowls at the absence of her words. "I fell in love with someone else—"

There is a loud cracking noise. It took Quinn half a second to realize that Santana Lopez just slapped the fuck out of her.

"What the fuck, Santana!" Quinn screams, cupping her cheek with her hand. "Why did you do that?"

"How could you fucking fall in love with someone else, you fucking idiot?" Santana hisses. Her anger is radiating so much, seeping out through the pores of her skin. For a brief moment, Quinn is truly afraid of her best friend. She is also aware that is Santana's protective instincts kicking in to play. She never takes betrayal lightly, and neither does Quinn.

"It wasn't a betrayal, S." Quinn says with her voice as even as she could muster. "It's not what you think. You know how I feel about infidelity."

"Then why the fuck would you say that?" Santana snarls, flexing her hands and that's when Quinn knew she should make her explanations quick and directly to the point.

"She broke up with me." Quinn states. "Because apparently, I fell in love with a girl that doesn't exist. I don't know what that means either, so don't ask me."

"Shit Q." Santana groans. "How could you let that happen?"

"Don't accuse me of things, S." Quinn frowns. "I love Kim. She knows me more than I know myself and I guess this is one of those times. You know she can have me in a heartbeat, if that's what she wants."

"I know, Q. I'm sorry about slapping the crap outta you." Santana chuckles and pulls the door open, and Quinn follows her inside. After a flurry of excuses and hell of a lot of reassurances for Kim and Brittany, the four leave the restaurant. They walk in pairs, Quinn and Brittany behind Santana and Kim. Quinn notices how Santana's arm is around Kim in such a protective hold, similar to how she holds Brittany. There is no jealousy; in fact, the sensation that engulfs Quinn is of relief. Relief, that she is not the only one that is protective of the raven-haired girl that is walking before her.

* * *

><p>"I'm ready to get some booze on!" Santana screams, throwing her arms up in the air as soon as the cool night air swallows their body. "Q, got any recs for bars? I know this one," she jabs her fingers towards Kim who stuck out her tongue. "…doesn't like drinking. Why are you friends with us again?"<p>

"Because we love her, San." Brittany explains.

"Right," The Latina smirks. "So, Q?"

"The Looking Glass is the best bar I've been," Quinn says as she blows a cloud of air from her lips. "I'm not sure if it's your scene, since it is a bar, but the alcohol there is great."

"I'm not exactly in the mood to party it up with loud music anyways," Santana shrugs. "You cool with that Britt, Kim?"

"I'll pass," the raven-haired girl sighs. "I have to get up early tomorrow for some photo-editing sessions. Maybe next time."

Santana makes a disapproving noise but takes the shorter girl into a giant hug. "We'll visit you at work tomorrow so you better load up on some caffeine, yeah?"

"Okay Santana." Kim rolls her eyes with a scoff. She plants kisses on each of their cheeks, lingering far too long against Quinn as she smiles. Quinn clears her throat and squeezes Kim's hand before kissing her knuckles in the familiar way that reminds them of their past.

"Bye, Britt! Take care of Santana and Quinn for me, 'kay?"

"You know it, Kimmy!"

Quinn watches the lithe frame of the girl she continues to love disappear into the darkness that is the New York City streets. As she continues to think about the invisible girl that she fell in love with, Quinn begins to believe her existence. How the unknown woman stole her heart away from Kim, never waiting for her to fight back as she runs: far away, never bothering for Quinn to catch up.

* * *

><p><em>I told myself I won't post chapters until I reach a certain amount of reviews, which is kind of horrible and desperate, but everyone has that mindset, right? Right.<em> _So, you, the reader, hold the power of this decision! Harharhar._


	9. Chapter 9

_The duet! My feelings! So much feelings! But of course, I'm still disappointed because... the potential for more Faberry was wasted! That's all I'll say since some of you may have not watched it yet. But, here is the new chapter!_

* * *

><p>The trio enter The Looking Glass, a well-lit establishment along East Village. Music is being played from the stereo, and chatter is heard above all. Quinn leads Santana to a table close to the stage, greeting the bartender as they pass by. Brittany long vanished to dominate the pinball machine.<p>

"This is a nice place, Q." Santana comments. "How'd you find it?"

"They have Broadway stars come in and sing sometimes." Quinn says as if it is enough of an explanation. Their drinks arrive and they relax into their seats, watching singers introduce themselves and sing a few songs that are not just from Broadway. Quinn laughs at a particular man who attempts to sing La Vie Boheme all on his own, until her eyes land upon _someone_.

That _someone_ being Rachel.

With a man.

It's not Finn, so Quinn supposes that it's a good thing.

But the man has a mohawk and a smirk plastered across his face, his arms draped around Rachel who is giggling at something that he whispered in her ear.

_Looks like Finn is not the only one chasing after Rachel then…_ Quinn thinks. She doesn't know whether to feel defeated or sad or angry. After all, the battle has yet to begin. She is sad by default, and why should she be angry when she has no reason to be? It's not as if Rachel is _hers_. If anything, she is not remotely close to being _anything_ with the gorgeous brunette that is radiating a wide smile.

She is staring, Quinn realizes, but doesn't make a move to rectify the situation. Instead, her peripheral vision dims, and her concentration holds Rachel in all her glory: glowing smile, copper skin and eyes that spoke oceans of emotion. Quinn licks her lips, wanting nothing more than to be reflected in the mirror of Rachel's soul. She finds herself murmuring the brunette's name, as if to remind herself that she is, indeed, _real_.

"Well, well… It looks like the 'girl who doesn't exist' exists after all." Santana mumbles against her second beer bottle. Quinn jumps, only remembering that she is not alone tonight.

"W-what are you talking about, S?" Quinn asks with innocent eyes.

"I'm saying… Have you pulled the legendary Fabray moves yet?"

Quinn laughs and almost chokes to death. Thankfully, Santana is not feeling so sadistic to leave her to die. She proceeds to rub the writer's back until her throat clears up of any obstruction. "Nah. The moves only work on Kim."

The Latina lets out an obnoxious laugh, slapping Quinn on the back as she does so. "At least you're aware of that fact. But seriously," Santana instantly sobers up, wiping the spit and beer that escaped her earlier burst of amusement. "That chick must mean something to you if you're leering golden bullets at that giant douche with the fucked up hair."

Quinn gulps at Santana's perceptiveness. It's not every day that her hot-headed best friend reads into her actions—that was usually a Kim or Brittany move. Rare as they are, Santana's analyses are very direct and hits _way _too close to home. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Santana scoffs, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "You never do. Just to let you know, I can feel your aura being all red and shit all the way over here. You're totes poppin' a lady boner for the short stack that dude's cozying up with. You want in on her pants, and you wants in now."

"You're ridiculous." Quinn mutters, shaking her head to and fro. _Am I really that transparent? Wow, Quinn. You need to brush up on your acting skills._

"No, you are." The girl retorts with a smirk. "Look, stop being such a calculating ho and just go with the flow." Before Quinn manages to say something, Santana holds up her hand and shakes her head. "And yes, I am fully aware that I just rhymed. Problem?"

"I don't—"

"Oh wait that's right. You're one of those writer people who loves feelings mixed in with their sexy lovin'." Santana declares as if it is a newfound revelation, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You just have to have that conflict and emotions and all the weepy bull. But guess what, Q?"

"…what?" Quinn asks warily.

"Unrequited love is one thing when it comes to novels and stories, but in real life it just sucks and it will eventually take its toll on you." Santana mumbles. Quinn cannot help but wonder if the cheerleading coach is speaking from experience, but the blonde refrains from asking. "Just…" Santana sighs in a gesture of defeat as she slumps against her chair. "Just stop living vicariously through your characters and do something Charlie would do, Q."

Quinn loosens her grip against her beer bottle, awareness of her situation dawning over her like a solid electric shock through her veins. She looks at Santana who carries a small, perceptive knot on her forehead as she chugs her beer. Quinn doesn't say anything—can't say anything. What is there to say?

_Other than what you truly mean_.

_What is the definition of your words, the reason behind them? What is it you want to tell the girl when you know she will be listening to your message and your words and your voice that can lull the most hyperactive child to a fitful sleep? Why do you want to tell her this? Who is she to you? Is she just a girl, or is she the girl that holds the potential to a multitude of entryways? Is she a portal to your freedom, to your heart, to the very depths of your being? Is she the one who possesses such a hold on you, that if she lets go, you will too?_

She sits up, determination brewing in the pit of her stomach. But before Quinn could stand up, the bar host trudges up the stage, taps the microphone and calls for everyone's attention until everyone's conversation evolves into a soft murmur.

"Tonight's guest singer is an up-coming Broadway star. She is the new Wendla Bergman of the off-Broadway revival of Spring Awakening. Ladies and gentlemen, miss Rachel Berry!"

Quinn claps her hands, not knowing what else to do. She watches Rachel, in all her five foot two glory, clamber up the stage, waving at everyone hooting their encouragement. She waves at the mohawk'd man who waves back with a grin.

"How's everyone doing tonight?" Rachel asks the crowd as the opening notes of whatever song she is going to sing floats about from the band behind her. She cradles the microphone and starts to sing the words to the song. "Where you are seems to be as far as an eternity. Outstretched arms, open hearts and if it never ends then when do we start?"

Rachel begins to sway in tune to the lead guitar, lifting her arm against her head, trailing her fingertips down the side of her face. "I'll never leave you behind or treat you unkind. I know you understand. And with a tear in my eye, give me the sweetest goodbye that I ever did receive."

Quinn watches, in awe, in utter disbelief, at how fluid and graceful the notes seem to fall out of Rachel's full lips. The Looking Glass is silent, save for her voice and the music. Every patron sits, jaws slack and with starry-eyes, appreciate the wonder that is Rachel Berry and her voice. The drums become a consistent rhythm and Rachel bops her head with it. "Pushing forward and arching back bring me closer to heart attack. Say goodbye and just fly away. When you come back I have some things to say."

The brunette's eyes begin to make its way, looking into the faces of every patron whose attention is fixated on her. Quinn's lungs cease all signs of functioning when those chocolate dreams pause before her very sight. And for that moment, Quinn believes that the words from the song are actually from Rachel, directed towards her, in a sweet promise of understanding.

"How does it feel to know you never have to be alone, when you get home? There must be someplace here that only you and I could go so I can show you how I," the beat slackens and Rachel's swaying becomes more liquid, ever-flowing. "Dream away every day. Try so hard to disregard the rhythm of the rain that drops and coincides with the beating of my heart."

Everyone is singing along now, but no matter how drunk or how sloppy the bar-goers are, Rachel's vocals are beyond them. Quinn thinks that every song that leaves Rachel's lips will be her new favourite song, until the next hymn comes along.

"How does it feel to know you never have to be alone when you get home? There must be someplace here that only you and I could go so I can show you how I feel."

The ending notes send a calming reverb throughout the four walls of the Looking Glass. Rachel does a customary bow, only letting go of Quinn's gaze for half a minute, until they are back, playing the staring game once more.

Quinn stands up, ignoring Santana and Brittany, who just returned from a long session of whooping butt by the arcade. Walking towards the side of the stage, where Rachel is coming from, Quinn steels herself.

"That was amazing, Princess." A voice from behind Quinn calls out. The blonde spins around to see the mohawk'd guy that is accompanying Rachel at their table. "I didn't know you could rock out the Maroon 5, which is cool. Kurt will pop a vein when he finds out you didn't sing a show tune. Let's get going!"

"Noah!" Rachel yelps, glancing to him then back to Quinn. "I-I'm afraid I can't go home with you. You can find your hotel on your own, right?"

"Yeah, sure but what gives…?" Noah looks at Quinn and a soft 'oh' escapes him. "I see. Hey there, name's Puck. Guess what it rhymes with?" He asks the blonde, who is suppressing an amused grin, while he flexes his biceps. "These are my guns, yo. Check it."

Rachel scowls and kicks Noah's butt. "Stop it, Puckerman."

Puck cackles and shakes his head. "Calm down babe. I was just joking. 'Sides, I got me some Zizes back home and you know how I like my women with curves." He bobs his shaggy eyebrows at Quinn, who just chuckles. "Aren'tcha gonna introduce yourself?"

"I'm Quinn."

"Oh, you're that—" Whatever Puck intends to say is cut off by Rachel's fist connecting against his gut. "Aight, cool. I'll just be going then and I'll see you tomorrow, babe. And I want details!"

Rachel rolls her eyes but says nothing more as Puck leaves the bar. Quinn stands before her, not knowing what to say. At least until Brittany appears from nowhere, in between the space that separates them.

"Hey Q! Who's your friend?"

"Not now, B!" Santana calls after her girlfriend. "We gotta go!"

"But S! I wanna meet Q's friend! I'm Brittany, and that smokin' lady over there is my awesome girlfriend. What's your name?" The taller blonde asks while she bounces on the balls of her feet, arm extending before her.

"I'm Rachel, nice to meet you!" The short diva replies with a grin that rivals Brittany's as she shakes the girl's hand.

"That's it…" Santana mutters, dragging Brittany away by the waist. "We're visiting Kim in the morning so you better be ready to entertain us in the afternoon, Q." She says, sending a glare towards Quinn. "And you," she points at Rachel. "We're not done. You'll meet me one day and you better be damn prepared."

Rachel's eyes reach the size of tennis balls, watching Santana leave. She returns her attention to Quinn who is watching her with a small smile.

"I am terrified of your friends." Rachel states before slipping on her coat. "Shall we take a walk?"

* * *

><p><em>Okay, I am off to listen to the duet and weep for the lost potential. Expect the new chapter this Friday (or something)!<em>


	10. Chapter 10

_Umm, okay. Here's the thing. I won't be able to update so soon after this. At my school, we have this amazing thing called May-June rush. It will be incredibly stressful for the next two months, so I hope you understand._

* * *

><p>Quinn admires how it's as if nothing occurred between her and Rachel, with the way the shorter girl rants about the past two days. This is what Quinn needs, not one of those arguments that are blown out of proportion because she ran. Rachel somehow understands that, and Quinn is grateful.<p>

"Hey Rachel?" Quinn says in the midst of the cold shadows of the night. They are walking along the street where the lamps are lit with an orange spark. "Remember that time in your apartment?"

Rachel looks up at Quinn and the temperature surrounding the two of them increases. "What about it, Quinn? It's not like you just up and left without reason or anything."

"I want to apologize."

The innocent expression of Rachel's face tugs at Quinn's chest. "Whatever for?"

"For running away," Quinn says. "For not returning your calls." _For being scared out of my wits._

"Well, Quinn. If you tell me why you did a five-hundred metre dash out of my apartment—while concussed, might I add—I just might forgive you." Rachel hums, smirking.

"I like you," Quinn blurts out, looking up at the sky rather than at Rachel, for she knows that with one look, the glass wall that filters the words from her brain to her mouth will shatter.

"Oh, I like you as we—"

"No, no, no." Quinn chuckles, her golden locks shaking to and fro. "Not in the 'we're best friends so we'll have sleepovers in the same bed and all will be fine and dandy' type of like!" She is clutching at straws, and it is evident in the rise and dips of her vocal chords. "It's the insane kind of like, w-where I want to send you flowers with poetry after every show you do or-or hold your hand while we're walking down the street. Sleep on the same bed, your head under my chin. Waking up and seeing the universe in your eyes and—" Quinn attempts to rein in her staggering heartbeat. "…kiss you 'till you're wide awake."

Silence. It suffocates Quinn in its glacial radiation. She hides her hands that are trembling due to fear, and she trudges forth, leaving Rachel a few paces behind.

_Look at it this way, Quinn._ She says in another bout of lonely conversation. _You've only known her for what, five days? There's not much to lose, so I guess your stupidity is acceptable._ She scoffs and kicks a lone pebble down the drain. _Yeah, right! If only Rachel wasn't the galaxy in the dark matter of your heart…_

"—inn! Quinn!" Rachel stomps her foot against the pavement, hands splayed on her hips. "I've been calling your name for the past two minutes and forty-seven seconds! Get back here!"

Quinn mumbles something but does as she is told. She drags her feet and stands before Rachel who is tapping her toes in a consistent rhythm, while she sends a stern glare Quinn's way.

"You didn't give me enough time to digest and respond to your speech." Rachel says. Her hands drop to her sides, only to reach for Quinn's fisted hand. "It _is_ quite a lot to take in, you know."

"What's there to take in?" Quinn asks while her in-born pessimism and loneliness kicks into high gear, making her head reel with frustration. "You're straight, Finn's back for you… What else is there to think about, other than how to let me down?"

"Please don't talk about thinks you know nothing about." Rachel retorts, her small smile faltering. "And who said I was straight?"

"I thought—"

"No, you didn't think, Quinn! You _assumed_ that just because I have a boyfriend, it means I'm straight! For all you know, I could be bisexual, which I am! In fact, I am more drawn to girls. It's just, living in a small town like Lima, Ohio places a limit on the way we get to express ourselves, which is why I never had a girlfriend."

"Wait—"

"And so, Quinn Fabray, you have no right to kick yourself over something so insubstantial! You didn't even consider how I feel about this sudden confession! I actually had a speech prepared too—"

"Rachel."

"—and to think that you were at the Looking Glass! I should've sung a better song from my vast repertoire like—"

Quinn, realizing that cutting off the diva mid-rant is a near impossible task, decides to silence the brunette the best way she knows how.

She grabs both sides of the shocked girl's face, and presses them together_._

"—mph! Kinn! Wut aryu-?"

"Stop, breathe, and listen." The blonde says slowly. She waits for Rachel to take two deep inhalations before letting her cheeks go. "Care to paraphrase your essay?"

"Quinn! You of all people should appreciate the quality of verbose and coherent speech!"

"Hey, don't get me wrong," Quinn holds up her hands in defense. "I do like concise and flowery prose every now and then, but not at this moment, okay? Not when my heart is dangling off a cliff with a rusty copper wire. And you're the only one holding it up."

Rachel blinks and nods. "I like you too."

"Say what?"

The brunette giggles and brushes Quinn's cheek with the pad of her thumb. "I like you too, Quinn. Not in the 'we're best friends so we'll have sleepovers in the same bed and all will be fine and dandy' type of like." Quinn chuckles at this. "But more of a romantic kind of like, where I leap into your arms after every show, kiss you in front of the crowd and introduce you to my family and friends as my girlfriend."

"Is that what you want?" Quinn asks, her voice masked with apprehension, dropping into a soft breeze that is carried in by the midnight air.

"Yes, Quinn." Rachel beams up at her, and Quinn imagines that smile, waking her up, like the crack of dawn against the heat of her skin. She imagines that smile during her moments of silence, when the words cannot help but travel from her heart to the surface of her fingertips, assuring her that she has something worth saying.

Quinn says nothing. She reaches into her pocket and flips to the first page of her fresh journal. She sits on the curb and uncapping her pen, she draws in the colours of emotions that she is feeling right now. Quinn blankets herself with Rachel's scent and her warmth that is pressing against her left arm. Her wrist flourishes and sways in tune with the river of her thoughts, until she reaches the calm hum of the crystal lake.

Where Rachel is waiting.

But before Quinn closes the journal, she flips to the flyleaf and scribbles down her intents and purposes for this new horcrux of hers.

_These are the words for the world that I will build for you_.

"Hey," Quinn finally looks up at Rachel. Her arm is tired but it doesn't matter, not when the depths of those eyes are reflecting her.

"Hey back."

Quinn stands, pulling Rachel with her. Truth be told, Quinn still can't believe it. She is standing in front of a record store, the moon half above their heads. The night whispers its congratulations, the stars dance their applause. Rachel's body pressed against Quinn, and she is _hers_, with the title of girlfriend.

"Take me home?" Rachel asks, and Quinn complies.

They walk with a renewed air of vigour and appreciation for life, or at least Quinn does. A spring in her step, a cheek-splitting smile, and a buzzing in her chest that refuses to be still. Her fingers vibrate with an itch she longs to scratch, but Quinn knows, that while the softest hand in the entire universe is in hers, that itch will never vanish.

* * *

><p>Rachel's apartment comes into view and Quinn feels as if the clock just struck twelve, and the night has finally come into conclusion.<p>

"Please don't let this be a dream." Quinn whispers.

"It's not." Rachel states, simple as that, and Quinn believes her.

"Goodnight Rachel."

"W-would you like to come up? Spend the night?" Rachel asks softly, her grip never loosening. Quinn nods and allows Rachel to lead her up the stairs and into the brunette's room. The atmosphere is electric, but not sexually-charged. It is heavy, clinging on to their skin, the passion, the love. Quinn breathes in deep as she watches Rachel unbutton her shirt with the delicacy that promises the vast stretch of skin.

"Wow," Quinn gasps, admiring the vague outline of Rachel's abs. Her eyes travel upwards, grazing the flesh spilling out of her black brassiere, then to the girl's lips, swollen due to nibbling too much. "You're sculpted by the hand of God, aren't you?"

"I just have a very specific workout regimen." Rachel says, pulling on a giant shirt above her head. She reaches behind her then pulls her hands into the sleeves. She tugs something down, and from the hem of her shirt, Rachel slowly pulls her bra out.

_Oh, snap_.

Quinn changes into the clothes that Rachel laid out for her, singing random songs in her head to prevent herself from imagining Rachel and her lack of chest restrictions. Rachel and her chiselled thighs, surrounding Quinn's waist as she plunges—

_Fuck! QUINN FABRAY YOU WILL REFRAIN FROM THINKING SUCH THOUGHTS!_

"Mother of Buddha, help me." Quinn mumbles into her palms.

"Come here, Quinn."

The blonde licks her lips, stepping forward to where Rachel is standing. Quinn's arms gravitate around the brunette's hips as the air they are breathing becomes intermixed with one another.

"Kiss me?"

Quinn smiles despite the rapid echoes that her heartbeat is making. She dips her head and Rachel lifts her chin. They fall, in time, in tune, fitting so wonderfully together that Quinn's heart overflows.

There is no tongue, but for the present moment, it is enough. No war for dominance, no exploring of mouths. It is pure lips, pure softness, and pure love—at least for Quinn.

Rachel pulls away, a tinge of rose covering her cheek. "You're intoxicating."

"You should kiss yourself then."

She laughs and pulls the blonde towards the bed. "We're not going to have sex yet, but I would love to sleep in the same bed with you."

"I would love that too." Quinn says, lying down beside Rachel who is pulling the duvet over their bodies. "Come here and snuggle with me."

Quinn pulls Rachel, her chest against the smaller girl's back. Quinn can't help but smile and nuzzle her nose against the curve of the brunette's neck. Here they are, cuddled against one another; her back meeting her front, her heart pressing up against her spine. To be one yet separate, that is what they are now.

"Made to measure," Quinn murmurs against the Rachel-scented skin brushing against her lips. "And smells so good."

"Quinn, I smell like cigarette smoke and sweat." Rachel huffs against Quinn's hold on her. She squirms, her bottom half dragging across Quinn's, making her tighten her grip around the warm body in her arms. "You are _so_ biased, darling."

"Turn around?"

Rachel does so, and as soon as their eyes meet, Quinn pulls her on top, their lips liquefying, fusing together like melting candy. Two different flavours but tastes like sweet heaven all the same.

Fatigue creeps up into the pair's consciousness and a fleeting thought makes Quinn smile.

_I almost forgot what it feels like, and then you came along._

_Finally, I can write about love again._

* * *

><p><em>I'll try to continue writing scenes so this story won't run stale. Please don't give up on me.<em>


	11. Chapter 11

__So, remember when I said _ I'm not going to update anytime soon? Guess who's a liar? This is my way of dealing with sadness, hurr hurr. Anyways, read up and I don't mind reading your word vomit about how frustrating Glee was today/tomorrow/when you watch it!_

* * *

><p>Waking up is one of the many things that Quinn despises in life, like an isolated word in the beginning of a line—orphans, they are called—or the noise of two metals scraping together. To wake up is worse than the anticipation of falling asleep, because to wake up is to be carelessly ripped away from the dream that you've been having. Not to mention the sudden chill and the energy leaving the body as soon as it regenerated.<p>

This time, however, it is not the case.

As Quinn opens her eyes, she recalls the last time she woke up like _this._ Limbs entangled, warm weight pushing her down, Rachel's lips against her neck. Quinn smiles, feeling so relieved that last night was no dream; that Rachel is _here_ with her, reciprocating the feelings that Quinn burdens herself with.

_It's not a burden if it's a weight you're willing to carry_, _Quinn_ she thinks.

She sweeps the hair that is covering Rachel's relaxed face and kisses her forehead. Her hands travel down the curve of Rachel's spine, resting on top of her waist where her back and butt meets. Quinn grips the cloth and slips her fingers to feel the velvety surface.

_Quinn! Stop groping your sleeping girlfriend!_

The blonde jerks her hands away, resting them rather awkwardly on her sides. Rachel lifts her head from Quinn's clavicle and peers into the hazel eyes that are dilated and dancing along with the curtain swaying with the wind. That's when Quinn sees the beautiful explosion of the sun's rays against Rachel's brown eyes. The black flecks against the chocolate surface, the way the irises dance…

"Anyone ever told you that you're beautiful, stunning or gorgeous?" Quinn asks.

Rachel blushes and shakes her head. "No one besides you and my fathers."

"Is Finncomprehension blind? You," Quinn pinches Rachel's cheeks and kisses her nose. "Are the most gorgeous woman I've ever had the fortune to sleep on top of me."

Rachel smiles and kisses Quinn on her lips. "I must say, you're the most beautiful woman I ever fell asleep on."

After a breakfast of vegan waffles, fruit, and hell of a lot of kissing, Quinn gets ready to leave Rachel's apartment to head back to her own. She puts on her coat and looks up at Rachel who has her hands against her back and is swaying to and fro with a small frown on her lips. Quinn smiles and kisses it away.

"What's got you so pouty and sad?" Quinn asks, resting her palms against Rachel's hips.

"You're leaving. I may or may not suffer from withdrawals."

"I'm spending the day with my friends today. If you're not that spooked of Santana, would you like to meet them?"

Rachel shakes her head. "As interesting as it is to meet your friends, I'm going to skip this time. They visited you to spend time with you and I don't want to get in the middle of that."

Quinn smiles and pulls the girl into a hug. "Very well then. Shall I come over once we're done?"

"I actually want to spend the night at your house," Rachel says against Quinn's exposed shoulder. "Your place is mysterious. It has all these subtle relics of your life and I want to delve into those."

The blonde kisses Rachel's forehead and steps into the hallway. "Just give me a call when you're coming over."

Rachel nods and pulls her in for another gut-wrenching kiss before pushing her out gently and with the brightest smile to light up Quinn's day.

* * *

><p>Quinn works her six-hour shift with Mike before receiving a phone call from Santana and Brittany who told her that they will meet her at a restaurant near Kim's workplace, which is a subway ride away from the bookstore.<p>

"So, how did it go last night?" Santana asks with a coy smile. "Did you get some?"

"Knowing you and your definition of 'some', I will have to say no."

"What? That fucking sucks, Q."

"I did, however, get a new girlfriend out of this ordeal." Quinn beams. "Thanks, Santana."

"Yeah, yeah whatever." The Latina grumbles, stealing a fry from Brittany's plate. "I still think Kim is best for you."

"Maybe," Quinn says with a sober frown. "But I'm not the best for her. At least not anymore."

"Hey Q, when can we meet Rachel for real? Cuz I totally think she's cute and stuff and stuff." Brittany grins, taking a pull from Santana's milkshake. "Her voice is all kinds of awesome too."

"Soon, B. Before you guys leave, for sure."

Santana scowls at Quinn. "Great, why do I have to go and meet the Dwarven queen?"

"You don't have to, but I know you will anyway." Quinn smirks, cocking her head towards Brittany who is looking at Santana with pleading eyes. "Hello, hello, whipped much?"

"If I remembered correctly, you're worse. Kim didn't even have to ask."

Quinn shrugs. "I want what she wants, that's all."

Santana laughs. "Yeah, right. I'm not opposed to meeting the midget that much, but we should totes bring Kim!"

"S, you're a bitch." Quinn mutters. "Kim won't be jealous, I know, but Rachel's going to be insecure. I told her about Kim. I won't be surprised if Rachel thinks that I'm still in love with her."

Santana brightens up at this. "Well then, it's settled. Tomorrow night meet us at the Looking Glass again. Tell her to bring that douchey friend of hers too. The one with the silly hair."

"Santana—"

"Nope, can't argue. Shut up and go with it."

"Yeah, Q!" Brittany pats Quinn on her head gently. "What if like, Kim and Rach becomes best friends? That would be awesome, right?"

"I highly doubt that, but I'll ask, okay?"

* * *

><p>"Hey pretty lady." Rachel greets Quinn from the doorway of her apartment. The brunette plants a soft kiss on Quinn's nose before walking into the tiny foyer of Quinn's home. "How did your day with your friends go?"<p>

"Other than Santana being a major villain in my life, it went by as if we were back in high school. Without the football jocks lumbering their way down the halls, of course."

"Lovely," Rachel comments, accepting the glass of mango juice from Quinn's grasp. "Guess what?"

"You found a map that leads to the treasure trove of historical secrets in underground New York?" Quinn asks with twinkling eyes and an earnest expression.

"What? No!" Rachel laughs. "Our opening night is set and, of course, I want you to be there. Front row and centre, watching me perform!"

Quinn smiles and takes the glass from Rachel, setting it down on the upright piano before engulfing her girlfriend into a hug. "Tell me where and what time, and you know I'll be there."

"December fifteenth."

"Done and marked in my mental calendar." Quinn hums. "Take a seat on the couch and I'll get the takeout menus."

"I still have your journal, by the way." Rachel says, taking out the battered black Moleskine from her purse. Again, with the gentleness in her movements that Quinn adores. "I forgot to give it back."

"No, it's okay." Quinn shrugs, sitting beside Rachel and holding out her collection of menus. "Have you read it all?" Rachel nods at this and tucks her head in against the crook of the blonde's neck. "Do you have any favourites?"

Rachel shoots up and gently caresses the yellowed pages of 'Quinn's Heart' as she likes to call it in her mind. Stopping before a page, she begins to read:

"I believe that everything can be written down." Rachel whispers, her hand holding down the page, and her other intertwining with Quinn's. "How tears form against your eyelids, how your first kiss feels, how the universe shatters into a million pieces. It can be documented in such a way that keeps its true form: the emotions that come with it. Writing things down keep things fresh. Alive. But most of all, it keeps things real. Once something is written down, it's permanent; bound to the earth with words and the slices of the pen against paper. To be the one called on by the universe to keep a permanent record of the wonderful thing called 'humanity' is a beautiful and honourable thing."

Quinn is blushing now, her arms tight against Rachel's. The tender lilt of the voice of the girl in Quinn's arms is very consuming. She is able to feel how the words affected the brunette so, and when Rachel cranes her head to the side to stake a claim upon Quinn's lips, she gives in to the infatuation.

"Why was that your favourite?" Quinn asks when Rachel places a millimetre of distance in between their flush lips.

Rachel hums a tune before tracing the etchings of ink against paper. "I can feel your passion in regards to what you do, Quinn." She says. "You believe in the power of words, and you are not afraid to use them. You have this grip against words and their meaning, and you can weave them into such a web that entangles them together, and still make sense." The brunette shakes her head as if in a daze. "I just—you are a beautiful woman, Quinn Fabray."

"You're only saying that because you want to get in my bed." Quinn teases playfully. Rachel smirks and kisses on the lips, sweeping her tongue against the blonde's lips, pink flesh teasing and dancing against one another. Quinn pulls away with a shudder, before kissing her eyelids.

"What do you want for dinner? I'm nursing a really horrible craving for tempura. And don't worry. My favourite Japanese takeout place has a vegan option, so don't you dare worry your gorgeous head about eating decapod crustaceans." Quinn says, kissing Rachel's forehead and lunging for the telephone.

"You've been my girlfriend for less than twenty-four hours, and already you're so thoughtful." Rachel smiles, shaking her head in disbelief. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I have no idea but!" Quinn dials the phone number before flicking Rachel's nose with her forefinger. "I better thank my lucky stars that I walked in that musty theatre when I did!"

Rachel grins and listens to Quinn as she orders for the both of them. As soon as the blonde girl hangs up, she pulls her in closer and rests her chin against Quinn's shoulder. "Can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything you want Rachel."

"When I was in high school… Every time I sign my name I put a gold star sticker after it because, well, gold stars are kinda my thing." Rachel laughs, and Quinn suspects that she is reminiscing something from her high school days filled with fear of getting hit with a cupful of slushy. "My gold stars are a metaphor of me being a star."

Quinn grins, so wide, that her cheeks feel as if they are being torn apart by the sheer joy that is spilling all over her insides. "I think metaphors are important. And, from the looks of it, it looks like I finally found my star, and she's been in Ohio all this time. Who knew?"

There is awe laced along the hem of Quinn's voice, and Rachel hears it. She leans in to enrapture Quinn in a mind-numbing kiss that only stops when there is a loud knock on the door signalling the arrival of their dinner.

* * *

><p>"Wait, your friends want to meet me? And they want me to bring Noah Puckerman? Are they insane or what?" Rachel asks through a mouthful of cucumber roll. "Noah in the presence of that many women turns into a predator. It doesn't matter if you're gay or not, he will try and bed you."<p>

Quinn snickers at this. "Sounds like Santana in high school."

"Well then, they just might get along."

"Oh goodness. That might be a night of hilarity. Is that a yes?"

Rachel nods and steals the final cucumber roll from in between Quinn's chopsticks. "Yep."

"There's one more thing…" Quinn sighs, munching on a squash tempura. "Santana's bringing Kim."

The brunette starts coughing and Quinn brings a glass of water against her lips while rubbing her back. Rachel stops hacking only to ask in the most livid tone that Quinn has ever heard. "What?"

"Yeah, Kim. You remember her? She's my… uh…"

"Ex-girlfriend?" Rachel supplies, a bit weakly. "Yes I remember."

"So… Are you still up for it?" Quinn asks, looking straight into Rachel's darling browns. "She was my friend before she was my girlfriend, so it would mean a lot to me if you two met. She's not the jealous type at all, so you don't have to worry!"

Rachel's cheek twitches but she smiles either way, taking Quinn's palm into hers. "Of course I'm still up for it. Now, do you remember what we were doing before this food arrived?"

* * *

><p><em><em>Also, Rachel Berry, my queen, I'll be good to you why aren't you real to me ): ?<em>  
><em>

_Oh goodness. Who watched Glee, raise your hand. Wait. Who watched Glee AND got pissed at the lack of continuity between Quinn and Rachel?_


	12. Chapter 12

_This is the longest chapter I've written but it was mad rushed, so... I tend to ramble when I'm under stress, but whatever, right?_

_Also, Faberry slap! Faberry! Glee in general! They need to give me my life back... Thoughts on tonight/yesterday/tomorrow/whenever you watch the Prom episode?_

* * *

><p>Quinn wakes up to the sound of Rachel singing along to Footloose in her kitchen as she makes a batch of vegan pancakes. It's not like Quinn bought vegan-friendly items from the health food store so that Rachel won't feel as if she's imposing, or anything.<p>

"Good morning beautiful!" Rachel leaps over the ottoman and into Quinn's arms. She lets out a grunt and a chuckle, before kissing the brunette's flour-spattered forehead.

"Morning."

"Someone's not a morning person," Rachel sings, pulling Quinn into the kitchen where two cups of coffee are waiting. Quinn grabs one and doctors it to her taste, regaining her soul in the process after her first sip. "Oh, right, can I wear this?" Rachel pulls at the lilac dress shirt that she is wearing. It hugs her curves, a bit loosely, but still it looks gorgeous on her.

"Sure," Quinn shrugs. "Did you sleep well?"

"The best," Rachel beams. "I have to go soon. Care to tell me where to go in order to meet your friends tonight?"

"The Looking Glass," Quinn says. "But if you want, we can go together. I can pick you up after your practice. You can tell Puckerman to meet us there."

"Right," Rachel says, nipping at Quinn's lips before downing the rest of her drink, to return for more kisses. "I'll see you then! Practice ends at seven tonight."

"Mmkay," Quinn smacks her lips together with a dopey smile drooping off her lips.

Rachel smirks, puts on her coat, and bids the blonde goodbye with another kiss and a languid moan. Quinn stands on her carpet, mind in a haze, and lukewarm coffee cup in her fist.

_I could get used to her kisses, damn_.

Quinn spends the morning lounging around and staring at the blank Microsoft Office Word screen with a sad look on her face. She taps her desk impatiently, palms her temples and slams her forehead against the keyboard only to type out a line of gibberish.

_Better than nothing?_ She asks herself as she looks at the nonsensical letters on the screen. _A blank word document really is a writer's biggest fear, damn it!_

She shoots up off her computer chair to get a drink when the phone rings. Quinn leaps off the ottoman and snatches the phone off its cradle. "Hello?"

"Is this the number for a Fabray? Mmm, Quinn Fabray?"

"This is she," Quinn retorts. "Who is this?"

"This is Anna Dalgarno and I read the first three chapters of your novel. Mmm, the title is World of Glass, is it?"

Quinn's heart speeds up, but she chokes out a reply. "Yeah?"

"Yes well, about this." She hears a rustling of pages. "I'm sure you know about how agents don't usually call but I just feel the need to do this. You have talent, that's for sure. But see, you can improve. Everyone can. Will you have time to meet me tonight?"

Quinn scowls at the phone cradle and at the worst timing of the universe. Should she ditch her friends and Rachel for the opportunity of a lifetime? Or should she leave the chance to meet with an agent in order push her stagnant dreams forward to its peak, to make the girl that is making her way under Quinn's veins happy and feel loved. Quinn sighs into the mouthpiece, steeling herself to reply.

"I'm sorry Ms. Dalgarno," Quinn says. "I have initial plans for this evening. I hope you can understand?"

"Oh, it's perfectly fine." The woman chuckles on the other line. "I will be busy for the next two weeks, so we might not have an opportunity other than this one for a really long time. In case you change your mind, I will be at The Burrow from ten till twelve. There is this poetry reading session, so if you're interested…"

"I'll think about it." Quinn says. "Thank you, Ms. Dalgarno."

"It's Anna, dear. And you're welcome."

Quinn, Rachel, and an excited Noah Puckerman enter The Looking Glass, searching the crowd for Brittany, Santana and Kim. Rachel grips Quinn's hand when she sees the Latina waving them over towards the secluded section of the pub. They walk on over, and when Quinn greets the trio; she pulls Rachel closer to her and places a calming arm around Rachel's shoulders.

"This is Rachel Berry my," Quinn clears her throat, glaring at Santana pointedly, who is wearing a smirk. "Girlfriend."

Kim's eyes widen, her lips pursing together as she unclenches her drink. "It's nice to meet you, Rachel!"

Said brunette lets go of Quinn momentarily to shake Kim's proffered hand. "You must be Kim," she says with a smile. "I saw photographs of you in Quinn's apartment when we first met."

Santana cocks a brow at this. "Wow, Fabray. You move fast."

"Hot damn, princess." Puckerman smirks, nudging Rachel's sides. "I didn't know you and the blonde bombshell hit it off _that _well."

"What?" Rachel shrieks. "I-we didn't—!"

"What she means to say," Quinn sighs, rubbing at the creases on her forehead. "Is that we did not sleep together the first time we met. Well, technically we did, but—"

"No one was naked, so keep it in your pants Noah."

"Aww, party-pooper." Puck harrumphs. "Not like that would stop me anyways, right?" He smirks, bobbing his brows towards Quinn who chuckles. "Righto, my name's Puck and I'm Rachel Berry's bodyguard slash Jew bro. Who you?" He asks Santana and Brittany.

"Hi Puck!" Brittany grins, waving at him. "I like your hair! It's like a runway! But with hair!"

"Hehe, thanks babe."

"Back the fuck off, Puckerman." Santana snarls. "She's my girlfriend, just so you know. I know she's flamin' but walk it off and come back when you can stop leering at her, you hear me?"

"Oh S!" Brittany coos against Santana's ear, causing her to jerk. "Don't worry! I prefer sweet lady kisses from you any day!"

Quinn chuckles as Puckerman tries to dissuade the two into partaking in a threesome with him as he pulls up his sleeves to flex his 'guns'. She grabs two bottles from the bar and offers one to Rachel who accepts it gratefully.

"So, how did you two meet?" Kim asks when Quinn takes the seat by Rachel. From the brunette's straight expression, Kim lets out a little laugh. "Oh, why do you look so troubled? You're worried about how I will react judging from our past, aren't you?"

"I simply find it rather odd that you are perfectly fine with meeting me so soon that is all." Rachel replies, fidgeting with her drink.

"Or it may or may not be you being insecure." Kim retorts lightly, looking towards Quinn with a knowing smile. "Don't worry Rachel. I promise that I won't steal Quinn away from you."

"As if you can…" Quinn mutters against her beer bottle.

"I probably can't, you're right." Kim laughs, rolling her eyes at Quinn.

"We met at the Vineyard Theatre," Rachel blurts out. "Quinn was sitting in the audience while I sang for my audition."

"Did you get the part?" Kim asks with apparent interest. When Rachel nods, she sits back and beams at Quinn. "I knew it! Quinn is a good luck charm of sorts. I took her with me for my job interview and I got the job. It's just a shame that her charm doesn't work for her, you know?"

Rachel chuckles and turns to Quinn who is pouting. "Oh darling, it's okay."

"Easy for you to say, you're not exactly struggling to pay the bills." Quinn jokes, but the memory of this morning brews in her mind. She checks the clock on the wall. _Nine o'clock. I still have time_.

Conversations between Rachel and Kim flew by like the proverbial time. They both complement each other. Both Rachel and Kim stimulate the conversation with questions of their own, and Quinn can't help but feel glad that one of her best friends and her new girlfriend are getting along.

"This is so lame," Santana mumbles, approaching Quinn with a frown. "I expected some raging fight between Kim and the troll where they fight for your affections or some shit. Disappointing!"

"Have I told you how much of a bitch you are?"

"Only every damn day, Q." Santana grins, clinking their bottles together.

"Kim and Rachel have the same height, what are you on?"

"I wasn't talking about her height, but she is a troll." Santana answers. "Anyway, so you and Rachel?"

"S, what is it with Rachel that you find so unacceptable?" Quinn asks, rubbing the creases of her forehead. It's one thing to have Kim accept Rachel since she is friendly by default, but convincing Santana that Rachel is good for Quinn will take a lot of work.

"Nothing exactly," Santana hums, looking over towards Rachel who is laughing at something that Kim said. "I just think that you and Kim could work things out and get back together, you know? Why bring the elf into the equation? Stop making Kim jealous and just talk it out!"

Quinn scowls and slams the beer bottle on the bar. "Take that back Lopez."

"What, take what back?" The Latina shouts, taking a step away from Quinn, whose aura became arctic. "We both know you're just using Berry to make Kim realize that breaking up with you is a bad decision! Just grow a fucking pair and talk to her about it!"

Quinn snarls and jabs Santana's side. "Rachel is not a device I'm using to get back with Kim. The only reason I'm with her is because I want to be. If I wanted to be with Kim, I would be. But I don't. I'm with Rachel, and I'm planning on staying, do you understand?"

"Okay, okay! Geez, calm the fuck down!" Santana pushes Quinn away, rubbing the sore spot on her stomach. "I forgot how fucking feral and sensitive you get when you're in love and shit. If I bruise, I'll break your damn nose, Fabray."

The blonde rolls her eyes and moves back to the table where her girlfriend is with her ex-girlfriend. They are talking about the pros and cons of factory-farming when Quinn leans in and kisses Rachel's cheek.

"Having fun?" Quinn asks only to receive a smile and a kiss from Rachel.

"Oh, yes! I was not aware that someone shares my views on factory-farming as much as Kim! Ooh, you should join us, Quinn! It'll be a good opportunity for you to learn about it and to stop eating bacon!"

"I tried that approach, Rachel." Kim retorts, shaking her head hopelessly. "It never worked."

"No one can keep me away from my bacon." Quinn says in triumph. "Anyways, I have to go."

"W-what?" Rachel demands weakly. "But the night is just getting started!"

"You don't have to come, I'm sure Kim will take care of you for me, right Kim? The blonde glances at the coal-haired girl who nods. "I got a call today from a literary agent and she wants to meet me tonight. But if you want me to stay, I can tell her I was up to something else and meet her two weeks from now."

Rachel looks at Quinn with a stern gaze. "Quinn Fabray! I will never ever hinder you from advancing your career! In fact, you know I'll support you until you achieve the highest peak!" Rachel pulls Quinn's neck down and kisses her. "Go, Quinn. I'm sure you'll be great."

Quinn smiles weakly and wipes the sweat away from Rachel's forehead and kissing her there. "Okay. If you need me, call. I'll be at The Burrow."

Rachel nods and sends a smile Quinn's way. "Later baby! And good luck!"

The Burrow is a station away from The Looking Glass, with dimmer lighting and rickety windows that shakes whenever the wind brews outside. The orange lights flicker and the low murmur of the patrons engulf Quinn as soon as she enters the pub. She looks around to find an empty seat by the bar, to sit beside a middle-aged woman with steel blonde hair.

"Can I have an iced tea?" Quinn asks the man behind the bar before looking around for a woman that could possibly be named Anna. Her eyes land on the stage where a man wearing a cardigan with neon blue streaks on his hair announces that he will be reading a poem called, 'Dark Despair'.

Quinn snorts at the title and thanks the bartender. The woman beside her rustles a thick stack of papers before looking up at the stage, then back to the sheet of papers. "If I'm not doing the same thing, I say you're looking for someone," the lady hums.

"Yes I am," Quinn nods.

"You're Quinn Fabray, aren't you?" The woman smiles at Quinn, a sparkle in her eye. "I'm Anna. So glad you could make it."

Anna is one of the nicest people that Quinn has ever met, with the way she is clearly interested in what Quinn has to say about writing and life in general. They talk about their favourite novels and poems, laughing at the particularly-bad poems that are read on stage. Quinn is on her third glass of iced tea when Anna takes out the manuscript of Word of Glass.

"This," Anna slaps the sheaf with the back of her hand. "…is a piece of work. You know how to write for an audience, that's for sure, but it's the story." Quinn hums, taking into account the wise words of the woman before her. "I'm not entirely sure what you're trying to say, and that is the most important thing."

"The world is a fragile place," Quinn says, trying her hardest to maintain a ghost of a smile. "No matter how carefully placed or delicately planned something is, it will shatter, break into a million shards of skin-cutting glass. And I want to say that it hurts; the cataclysmic change of events and the inevitability of it all. Sort of like—"

"Chaos theory?" Anna supplies with a grin. "I understand, but you see, it's not concise enough."

"I guess I want people to think about it when they read it," Quinn chuckles. "But I can rewrite it."

"No, no." Anna shakes her head and flips to a chapter marked with a post-it flag. "Here, see this page? I find that this is the most vital of it all. I want you to rewrite this chapter to reflect your theme."

Quinn takes the page and skims through it. It is the chapter of the reveal, when the angel from heaven made an appearance for the girl dressed in red and white, to tell her that the universe is for hers to take and to possess until her death. She looks up at Anna who is sipping her wine with a smile drooping off the corners of her lips.

"Is that all? Once I rewrite it and you like it, will you r-represent me?" Quinn asks hopefully.

"It all depends. Can you sing, Quinn?"

"Err," Quinn bites her lip. "I'm decent, but why—"

"See that stage? It's rather empty. I want you to sing an emotionally-gripping song for me, and if I like it, yes I will gladly represent you."

Quinn downs the rest of her drink, shuddering out a strangled breath. _An 'emotionally-gripping' song? But what?_

"Alright," she announces, standing up and asking the bartender, he motions for the DJ to tone down the music for a performer. Quinn walks on stage and clears her throat. "I don't usually do this but I'm sort of being blackmailed." Anna laughs in the background and Quinn grins. "I have to sing an emotionally-gripping song, so here it—"

"Who's it for?" A drunken patron yells from the back, and the crowd explodes in laughter.

"It's for my girlfriend," Quinn says softly. "She's not here tonight, but it's for her. No matter what she's doing right now, wherever she is, it's for her."

She sits on the piano bench and she flexes her fingers. Another deep breath and a thought of Rachel, she presses down to play.

"On the days I can't see your eyes, I don't even want to open mine."

The lights seem to grow dimmer, and a shaft of luminescence falls on Quinn and the piano. The blonde smiles and closes her eyes. She knows the song well enough to play the instrument by heart.

"On the days I can't see your smile… Well I'd rather sit, wait the while… for the days I know you'll be near. Cause a day without you, it just isn't fair. See the days I can hear your voice… I'm left without a choice."

Quinn looks up, towards the crowd, and she notices how the stillness intensifies her voice, and thus her emotions as well. She shakes her head as the thought of Rachel overwhelms her in the same way that music and poetry and words do.

"Plus I get weak in the knees, fall head over heels baby… and every other cheesy cliché. Yes I'm swept off my feet; oh my heart skips a beat. But there's really only one thing to say."

That's when Quinn sees her.

"God damn you're beautiful to me! You're everything, yeah that's beautiful… yes to me."

Quinn plays the final bar riff and ends it, with a note of longing. Silence falls, but the sound of footsteps echo, resounding like the piano notes, except with a more intense vibration. It's not about the sound, but rather, where the sound is coming from.

Rachel.

In all her effervescent beauty, highlighted by the low lighting that is reflecting against the smooth skin of her face. Every step she takes towards the stage, Quinn feels her heartbeat getting stronger, stronger, _stronger_ until…

Quinn stands up from the piano and standing by the edge of the stage with Rachel looking up at her with the unshed tears making her brown eyes shimmer, like topaz.

"Quinn…" Rachel says softly. Everything is quiet, like the dawn of a new day.

"D-did you hear me?" She asks hopefully.

"Yes," Rachel huffs with the most _perfect_ smile on her face. "Even from before you sang. I was looking for you, and I love that little intro you did, by the way. When you came up the stage… I-you take my breath away."

Quinn leaps off the stage and throws her arms over Rachel's shoulders. "That's not a good thing, because I do want you to breath."

"I'm sure," Rachel retorts. "I need you to take me home, right now."

"Is something wrong?" Quinn leads her to the side, not even bothering to recognize the catcalls and the hoots of their names. Rachel shakes her head and cups Quinn's cheek.

"We need to talk."

_Oh, what the hell…?_

* * *

><p><em>:D<em>


	13. Chapter 13

_I usually update on Tuesdays, right? I finished my World Religions exam today, so this is me celebrating!_

* * *

><p>"Waitwaitwait!" Quinn yelps, grabbing Rachel's arm before she gets away. "I want you to meet someone first!" <em>That and I want to prolong this dream for longer, for as long as I can. I don't want you to leave me.<em>

Rachel stops and twirls around, allowing Quinn to lead her to where Anna is sitting with a smug grin with a drink in her hand. "Just what I requested, thank you Quinn."

"Rachel, this is Anna. She's the literary agent that I told you about. Anna, this is my girlfriend, Rachel." The brunette gives her show face and offers her hand which Anna shakes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I daresay, your girlfriend is very talented when it comes to singing and writing as well! Writing, especially."

"I know!" Rachel gushes, taking the seat beside Anna and tapping the counter for a drink. Quinn sighs in relief.

_Crisis averted. For now_.

* * *

><p>Rachel thanks Anna for her time and interests towards Quinn's work while the blonde stands there sheepishly, mentally apologizing for her girlfriend's eagerness. Anna merely laughs it off, patting Quinn on the cheek and offering her calling card just in case.<p>

It is already one a.m. when the two lovebirds leave The Burrow. The wind is crispier and sharper than ever; making Quinn long for the warmth of her apartment. Rachel sits down on the couch as soon as the warmth engulfs them, and Quinn watches her fidget with the tassel of the throw pillow. If the blonde didn't know any better, she would say that Rachel is the nervous one.

"What's going on?" Quinn asks, braving out the events and possibilities of the night. "Did I do something?"

"What? No!" Rachel insists, throwing the pillow and motioning for Quinn to sit beside her. "I don't know how to say this but…"

Quinn waits. There is no use jumping into conclusions, right?

"Kim offered to host a photo shoot for her magazine. Featuring me." Rachel nibbles on her lip and looks up to Quinn who has an incredulous look on her face. "I-I want to know if you're okay with that…"

"_Is that all?_" Quinn demands.

"I-yes?"

"Get the hell over here," Quinn murmurs, pulling Rachel by the waist and cradling her on her lap. She buries her nose against the tanned skin of Rachel's neck, mumbling something about '_scared shitless' _and '_moronic incoherencies_' and '_don't do that again_'.

"Oh Quinn!" Rachel exclaims, pulling Quinn's face away to kiss her without preamble. "Did you honestly think that I'm going to break up with you?" She pouts and tugs at Quinn's hair "Oh ye of very little faith… Why would you think that?"

"You said 'we need to talk'! That's never a good thing to hear from your new girlfriend!" Quinn says, resting her forehead against Rachel's shoulder. "Who knows, maybe you came to your senses and realized that I'm not who you think I am. I'm not that great, at least not as great as you, so..."

"Quinn, look at me."

Quinn follows her orders—willingly—anything to get a look into those expressive eyes that might as well be a star in the night sky. "There is nothing about you that I don't adore, except your love of bacon. But that is more of a peeve than anything. You're fantastic, and you serenading me tonight, even just in thought… It cemented the fact that you and I? We will be together for a pretty long time."

"Is that a promise?"

"One I intend to keep." Rachel shifts against Quinn's lap and pressing her lips against her forehead. "Now, let's discuss that song you sang for me." The diva smirks playfully, slipping her hands inside Quinn's shirt from underneath, to run her nails against the blonde's abdomen. "I was not aware that you sing."

"Umm… Surprise?" Quinn says weakly.

"Oh it's definitely a surprise," Rachel bites down on the tendon that stretches between Quinn's neck and shoulder. "I have a surprise of my own for you too. But first, it requires us to go to the bedroom."

Quinn gulps. _Oh this is going to be good._

* * *

><p>Quinn is pushed down against the soft bed, Rachel hovering above her. Steamy kisses cloud Quinn's thought, and that knee between her legs is making her shudder. Hands travel all over, and Quinn does too.<p>

"Stay here," Rachel murmurs, nipping at her neck before walking away, leaving a frustrated Quinn, ready to explode with a touch. Her chest heaves, a pathetic attempt at calming herself down. Her arm rests on top of her eyes to quell the anticipation in her lungs.

Her iPod dock begins to play a familiar tune. Quinn pushes herself up by her shoulders and watches Rachel saunter over to her with that devilish grin and that glint in her eye. Quinn waits for the vocals to come, but they don't. What comes instead is something ultimately better.

"Where I go, when I go there… No more memory anymore," Rachel begins to sing, walking around Quinn in circles, swaying her hips and lifting her arm to beckon Quinn over. "Only men on distant ships… the women with them swimming with them to shore."

Quinn bolts up and off the bed to meet Rachel's hand halfway. Their bodies become flush with one another as Quinn tugs her closer. But it is as if there is always a distance, a gulf that is gaping in between them that being stomach to stomach, forehead to forehead is not enough.

"Where I go, when I go there… No more whispering anymore," Rachel continues, her palm resting against the swell of Quinn's hip as she sways them to and fro. "Only hymns upon your lips; a mystic wisdom, rising with them, to shore…"

Quinn bites off a grin against Rachel's shoulders. Her palms cup a breast and she softly squeezes, relishing the feeling of the bud stiffening against her hand. "Touch me—just like that." Rachel's breathing hitches when Quinn kisses her cheeks softly. "And that—oh yeah—now, that's heaven."

"Now, that I like," Rachel throws her head back when Quinn's hand flicks her wrist to open every button of Rachel's shirt in order to nip at the skin of her chest. The blonde pushes the blouse off to gawk at the black lace that is cupping Rachel's breasts. "God, that's so nice. Now lower down, where the figs lie."

"Oh, my god, oh, yeah, yeah, yeah," Rachel hums. Quinn is aware that it is the lyrics to the song, but she cannot help the wave of heat that crashes down and through her body when she hears those moans—throaty and filled with hunger—as she unclasps the brunette's bra to finally make skin-on-skin contact with Rachel's breasts.

Rachel repeats the moaning and the husking once more, only becoming throatier when Quinn pushes her on the bed and lowers her mouth against the pink bud. "Touch me…" Rachel groans, still in perfect pitch. "Touch me…"

Quinn obeys. Honestly, why wouldn't she, when the beautiful woman lying in bed with her is asking her to do something that she only longs to do, especially now? The blonde's pale hand lowers, resting on Rachel's stomach directly above the waistband of her jeans. Quinn unbuttons them with trembling hands, her heartbeat steadily increasing in the same way that Rachel's voice is.

"Ah, ah, oh, oh, oh, oh!" Quinn grins when the song picks up just as soon as Rachel's jeans fly off of her legs. Marvelling at the sight of golden brown skin and legs that are sculpted and strong, Quinn caresses them gently, trailing up and down from thigh to ankle.

"Touch me—all silent. Tell me—please—all is forgiven…" Rachel's chest is now heaving, getting caught in places when Quinn's knuckles graze against the crotch of her underwear. "Consume my wine," Quinn hooks her thumbs and pulls down. "Consume my mind," The fabric is completely removed, and Quinn stops to stare. "I'll tell you how, how the winds sigh…"

Quinn, noticing the way that Rachel is tugging at her shirt and writhing beneath her, decides to pull off her own shirt and shuck of her pants as well. Now, skin on skin, breath on breath, the atmosphere within the room rises to a hundred degrees, if not more.

"Touch me—just try it." Rachel pleads, her brown eyes catching hazel in their passion. Quinn nods her head as her fingers and lips search for skin to taste and feel. "Now, there—that's it—God, oh that's heaven. I'll love your light," Rachel cups the blonde's cheek who turns her head just enough to kiss her palm. "I'll love you right. We'll wonder down, where the sins cry."

During the times that emotions can be too much, when her frontal lobe is in a rage, is right now. Quinn is overwhelmed. To the point of crying, even. But she doesn't, because Rachel is too beautiful, too perfect, and Quinn is too in love.

"Love me—just for a bit…" Rachel whispers, gripping Quinn's hair when the blonde lowers herself down where the apex of Rachel's thigh and her waist meets. "We'll wander down, where the winds sigh…"

Quinn bites down, smelling Rachel's scent. Tongue slips inside, tasting the moisture and arousal of the heated girl beneath her. Rachel cries, Rachel sighs, as Quinn does as she wishes her to.

"Quinn!" Rachel whispers in urgency. "Please, please faster baby…"

"No, Rachel. Slow." Quinn says, nipping at her clit and tracing the twitching hole of Rachel's sex. "You deserve to be made love to, because I love you."

A bout of silence passes that even Quinn did not fear, especially not when Rachel pulls Quinn to her lips to claim them as hers. Quinn realizes, that this moment is the point of no return, especially not when those words just traipsed out of her mouth. It seems overrated and cliché and overused, but why should it be when it's just the truth?

Rachel squeezes, grasps, claws and nibbles, to let Quinn know that…

"I love you back," Rachel smiles, her eyes watery. "We haven't known each other for long, but it's been a while since I felt like this."

"Like what?" Quinn murmurs.

"Like…" Rachel takes a deep breath, her arms resting around Quinn's neck as she hovers. "I-I'm not really good with words, Quinn."

"That's not true," Quinn argues. "You're very good in speaking your heart out."

"Not as great as you," Rachel insists, and Quinn shakes her head.

"Just tell me how you feel."

Rachel relaxes and she pulls Quinn close. "You make me feel like I belong. Here, where you are. You don't give me tingles or butterflies, but you make me feel something deeper. Something true, something that I have never felt with anyone before."

Quinn dips her head to calm her ever-beating heart. "See? You're very eloquent."

Rachel chuckles. "Yes, well. Can we talk later? I have a fire lapping at my loins and it is rather uncomfortable. So if you could please tame it…"

Quinn laughs, kissing Rachel's forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her lips, and her neck. "Of course."

Slowly, slowly, like a pressing cruise against the tides, Quinn nips at every centimetre of skin her lips can reach from her position above Rachel. The girl underneath her squirms, sighing out Quinn's name in a delirious attempt to make her speed things up.

"If you go any slower than this, I might explode." Rachel huffs.

"Good," Quinn says against Rachel's flat abdomen. "I want to break you and the previous attempts of those boys you slept with in the past. I want to remove them from your mind, eradicate their touch from your veins. I want to destroy your past by making you scream my name."

"Not to spoil the mood, but you already did that from the very first time you kissed me."

"Well then, let me do it again."

Rachel arches her back as soon as Quinn's tongue invades Rachel's insides. She cries out, in fire and desperation, for the blonde-haired girl to claim her, and fast. And just when she feels the edge of the cliff beneath her feet, Quinn moves away to kiss Rachel on the nose.

"I want to see you come," Quinn whispers, her fingers slipping inside Rachel, curling as she enters. "I want to smell your scent," she adds another finger and Rachel wails. "I want to hear you scream my name," Rachel clutches at Quinn's hair, making her wince. "I want you to tell me that you love me."

"O-oh Quinn…" Rachel groans. "You're going to make me come… So hard…"

Quinn smiles and with her free hand, she interlocks their fingers together. "Good."

In the midst of the sex and fire, Rachel chuckles. "You're making me fall for you."

"…is that so bad?"

"No," Rachel sighs, feeling herself fall apart limb by limb. "Not at all."

"Good," Quinn says. "Will you come for me now?" She angles her fingers as she enters again and again, pressing at the 0070atch of muscle that is making Rachel writhe and groan and swear with every breath.

"Y-yes! Quinn!"

"Again," Quinn husks urgently, watching Rachel's features contort into a mask of pleasure. "Say my name again, please Rachel."

"Quinnnn!" The pleasured girl shrieks, throwing her hips off the bed so as to feel more of Quinn inside of her. "QUINN!"

Rachel slumps back on the mattress, and Quinn pulls her fingers out to taste Rachel on her hand. The brunette groans, pulling Quinn and rolling over so that this time she is on top. "Mmm, you're so beautiful, Quinn."

"Have you seen yourself?" She asks, shaking her head as she watches Rachel spread her legs. "If you have, then you wouldn't be saying that."

"I think," Rachel hums against Quinn. "That you need to accept compliments. Now, let me do my thing over here, okay? Oh, and don't forget to say my name."

"Of course," Quinn grits out when Rachel enters her in full force. "Shit, Rachel!"

* * *

><p>The afterglow and the radiation of pleasure enshroud Quinn and Rachel as they lay side by side underneath Quinn's duvet. Limbs wrap against one another, sharing oxygen and glued together by their sweat and love. Rachel nuzzles Quinn's neck and she smiles in content.<p>

"So, about that photo shoot with Kim…" Quinn says, her fingers twirling Rachel's hair around it. "Did she say why she wants to do it?"

"Mmm, I think she likes to do a volume about Broadway stars, I don't know…" Rachel sighs. "She's rounding up other people as well but she says she wants a spread about me."

"Will you be in the cover?"

"It is highly likely."

"When are you doing it?"

"Next week, I believe."

"Rachel—"

"Quinn," Rachel sighs, burying her face deeper into the blonde's neck. "Sex was supposed to tire out. Heck, I'm tired! Why aren't you?"

"I have this theory of the existence of romantic energy… you know, you know?" Quinn asks, her body still thrumming with pleasure as she runs her hand all over Rachel's body. "I get really hyper during the post-coital bliss and I don't know what to do about it, so I have this idea—"

"Quinn."

"Yes?" She squeaks, relaxing suddenly against the mattress.

"We have to make use of that remaining energy. Now."

* * *

><p><em>How's that for a 'we need to talk' speech? Hehehe, do you love me again :3? <em>


	14. Chapter 14

_Excuse me, I'm tired as fuck so that means I'm sort of wishing for the rapture tomorrow. But as if, right?_

* * *

><p>The crisp of fall blows, while Rachel eyes the apartment building that towers above her with an insecure smile. She double-checks the calling card in her fist, sighing as it clearly says '905 Lucky Star Court', in golden lettering by the heavy wooden door. She presses the buzzer for the loft, taps her toes against the hard concrete, before hearing Kim's voice through the intercom.<p>

"Rachel, is that you? Come on up!"

She hears the cranking of the door and it opens. Rachel pulls at it, and enters the foyer that smells oddly of chocolate cupcakes and coffee. She enters the elevator and presses the button for the topmost floor, her heart beating rapidly as she feels the floor lift and grate against the chains that makes up its mechanisms.

Stepping out of the elevator, she is met by a wide open space. The grey marble floor shines with the dim light from the reflector umbrellas and an apple-scented candle flickers on top of the coffee table. Rachel sees Kim fiddling with one of her cameras before she looks up to see Rachel. She smiles.

"Hey!" Kim approaches, swinging the camera to rest by her hip. She pecks at Rachel's cheek, and she cannot help but notice how smooth and warm the photographer's skin is. "So glad you can make it."

"Where are the others?" Rachel asks, following Kim to the area where all the equipment is set. "I thought that you have other Broadway stars come in?"

"Oh, don't worry about that." Kim assures her before pulling a rack of clothes in between them. "I told you, didn't I? I'm having a spread that is all about you, so obviously you're doing this solo, and I thought that it would be better if it's just you and me without my crew. Here," Kim plucks a costume set and holds it up for Rachel to see. "I called your manager a few days ago to finalize with him, and he sent me your Wendla costume. I'm thinking minimal makeup, your Wendla costume, and some other shots to showcase your," Rachel raises a subtle brow when she sees Kim lick her bottom lip. "…defining features." She looks up at Rachel. "Is that okay?"

Rachel smiles and nods. "Of course. Where do I get changed?"

Kim points to a door at the far end of the loft. "Just call me when you need something, okay?"

* * *

><p>"So, how did you get started on Broadway?" Kim asks as she snaps once, twice, before changing a few settings to begin clicking away once again.<p>

"Technically it's off-Broadway," Rachel chuckles. She shifts with her left arm that is resting against her hip. "But it's been my dream ever since. I won my first singing award when I was six months old, and I knew I'm made for stardom."

"That's-that's great," Kim laughs. "Now, can you…" she brings a crate from the prop side of the room and sets it in the middle of the floor. "Sit there and—yeah, bring a leg up? Nice."

Rachel blushes under the heat of the lights and the constant feeling of being exposed, only to be captured by the large camera. "How about you? How did you start with photography?"

"Quinn influenced me, actually." Kim responds. "She bought me a camera for my fifteenth and it escalated from there."

"Y-you've been together for that long?" Rachel asks weakly. Kim looks up from the eyepiece and towards Rachel, who is looking at the floor.

"Yes, but not in the way that you think." Kim replies, standing up straight. "Look Rachel, I want this to be a professional deal, but if you think your emotions will get in the way…"

"No!" Rachel snaps, straightening her dress and sitting up straight. She tips her chin, an aura of confidence seeps out of her pores. "I was just wondering, I mean, we do have Quinn in common, don't we?"

"Right," Kim nods and clicks away. "We've been friends since we were five, so naturally we are still close even after all these years. But, we only started dating when we turned seventeen."

"Oh," was all Rachel said.

"Yep," Kim sighs and she changes the lens into a shorter one. "Now I'm going to get a few close-ups, is that okay?"

Rachel nods.

Kim takes a step towards Rachel and is about to touch her cheek when they hear the grates of the elevator shaft cry out. They both turn to see Santana, stepping into the loft as if she owns the place.

"Hey Kimbug—oh." Santana narrows her dark brown eyes at Rachel, a sneer covering her lips. "Are you ready for some quality time with me?"

"I'm working, San." Kim sing-songs as she catches Rachel's expression in a still frame. "I love your jawline, Rachel."

A small smile curves Rachel's lips, and Kim returns it.

"Okay, okay…" Santana yells, plopping down on the couch behind Kim. "Hurry up."

Kim rolls her eyes and she faces Santana. "Santana Lopez. I am working."

"What, taking pictures of dwarves and mythical beings? Puh-leaze, I can think of better ways to waste your hot talent on."

Rachel shrinks away from the camera, but Kim cradles her chin, tipping it up to make her face Kim's dark caramel eyes. The singer gulps, noting how Kim smells so much like cherry blossoms and the warm spring breeze. Kim smiles, and she thumbs the soft skin of Rachel's cheek.

"I don't see what's so dwarf-y about Rachel," Kim tells Santana, her gaze never losing focus.

"Are y'all fuckin' blind?" Santana rages.

"No, you are the one who's blind!" Kim finally snaps, whirling around to scowl at Santana, who cowers for half a second before standing her ground. "I don't see how you get off on insulting Rachel when _clearly _she's gorgeous! Sure, it's not within the standards of American white model beauty, but she's beautiful. Do you understand, Santana?"

"Fuck, bro." Santana mumbles. "You all need to learn how to take a fucking joke."

"No, S. You were bordering on bullying."

"Geez! What, do you have a fucking crush on Berry too, Kim?" Santana growls, slapping the armrest of the leather sofa she is sitting on.

"No!" Kim blurts out, but a light blush enshrouds her lightly-tanned skin. "Y-you were just being unfair!"

"Yeah, uh-huh." Santana rolls her eyes and nods. "I'm sure you get all passionate and shit in defending your models every time I insult them."

Kim looks away and places her camera on the table along with the rest of her photography equipment. Rachel watches, with heavy interest, as Kim takes a deep breath, her palms resting on the desk.

"Is it so bad for me to be nice to Quinn's girlfriend?" She asks quietly, voice firm yet gentle. "I broke up with Quinn. The least I can do is help build up their relationship, okay?"

"Yeah, because taking pictures of Quinn's _girlfriend_ is helping them to become stronger." Santana scoffs, folding her arms above her chest. "Real sweet of you, braceface."

Rachel sees Kim's knuckles clench and turn white, so she stands up from the crate and places a warm hand on top of the ghost-white knuckle. "It's perfectly fine, Kim. Thank you."

"And here comes the crap," Santana mumbles.

"I don't know what your problem is with me but," Rachel looks at Santana with a ferocious glare that could melt steel. "You have to stop making it a point to harassing both Kim and Quinn and just live with it, Santana."

"Fuck you," the Latina hisses. "You don't know the first thing about us. Us four? Yeah, we're a unit, bitch. We grew up together, we're dying together."

"Don't you think that's immature?" Rachel says, placing her hands on top of her hips. "That you think that nothing will change? People grow up, and it's silly of you to believe that Quinn and even Kim will stay together just because of your childhood fantasy about being together forever."

Santana growls and takes a step towards Rachel but the grating clatter of the elevator makes them snap towards the direction of the shaft. The metal doors open and Quinn steps out with a paper bag and a smile, only for it to disappear after seeing the tense atmosphere that is brewing in between Rachel, Santana and Kim.

"What's going on?" Quinn asks, putting the package on top of the coffee table and walking over to them. "Santana, why are you ready to punch Rachel's lights out?"

"Is there a party that I am not aware of?" Kim demands, walking towards the clothes rack impatiently. "Why is everyone conferring in here?"

"What happened?" Quinn asks quietly, cupping Rachel's face and forcing her to look up at Quinn's hazel eyes. "Tell me, Rachel."

"I insulted the fuck outta her," Santana says with a smirk. "And her gigantic nose couldn't take it."

"Hey Santana," Quinn says evenly, without looking back at the Latina. "If I insult Brittany, how would you feel?"

Santana's glare falters, and she clears her throat angrily. "W-why would that even be an option?"

"Exactly how I feel," Quinn spits out, turning to finally face Santana.

"That doesn't even compute, Quinn! Brittany is your friend before she was my girlfriend! Rachel can't even compare! She's just some girl who thinks singing show tunes will get her somewhere in life!"

Rachel gawks and is ready to argue her dreams to Santana, but Quinn steps in. "You know what," the blonde sighs, taking Rachel's hand as well as the bag that has the brunette's change of clothes. "I feel no need to compare my relationship with Rachel with your relationship with Brittany, when we both feel the same way. I just want you to respect me and who I love, at least."

"Yeah, well maybe you should ask Kim what happened before I walked in on your _girlfriend_," Santana spits out the word with such bitterness. "…and our renowned photographer, hmm?"

"What do you mean?" Quinn asks. "Kim?"

"I-it's nothing!" Kim says in a rush, that she trips over her words. "I was just fixing Rachel's hair, nothing happened!"

"Yeah right!" Santana lets out an angry, mocking laugh. "The sexual tension was so bad, it almost suffocated me. You didn't see them, Quinnie. Rachel was all up against Kim, like the slut she is!"

"HEY!" Quinn yells. "You don't call _anyone_ a slut. Especially not Rachel, do you hear me? And who are you to accuse them?"

"She's lying, Quinn." Rachel whispers, her grip tightening around Quinn's wrist. "Please, you have to believe me. I would never cheat on you!"

"I know, Rach." The blonde pulls Rachel to her and presses her lips to her sweaty forehead. "It's okay, I trust you." To Santana, she throws an icy glare and a silent threat that speaks of hurt amongst the layers of betrayal and annoyance. "You," she says to Santana.

"What, Quinn? Bros before hos!"

"Rachel is not a ho, therefore, your argument is nil."

Quinn glances at Kim, who nods curtly, before kissing Rachel's knuckle and pulling her towards the elevator shaft. Rachel lets out an almost invisible sigh of relief, but of course Quinn hears.

"You okay?" Quinn asks, cradling the singer's shoulders with her arms. "I'm sorry about Santana."

"It's not your fault baby," Rachel replies, kissing the underside of Quinn's jaw. "Santana has a problem with me, but you can't do anything about that."

"She always comes off as crass, but that's her being protective. I understand that it's unfair, but it takes a while to get used to."

Rachel says nothing else, but she appreciates, more than flats and vegan ice cream, the way Quinn's comforting warmth envelop her head and her heart.

"Hang on for me, okay?"

The brunette nods, and they step off, to the light.

* * *

><p><em>I have my final English exam on Wednesday so I <strong>probably<strong> won't be able to update the following week. So sorry ):_


	15. Chapter 15

_I am irrationally angry right now. But! I shall spare thee._

* * *

><p>Quinn's apartment is closer than Rachel's, so that is where they head after the little episode with Santana. Quinn never lets go of Rachel's hand the entire walk to the tall brick apartment, until she has to open the door. But even then, Quinn never loses contact. She nuzzles into Rachel's neck, or she presses her body against the curve of the singer's back as she fiddles with her keys. Rachel doesn't say anything.<p>

"She said something to you," Quinn says, pushing Rachel against the couch in the middle of her living room. She hovers above the brunette, who refuses to meet Quinn's gaze. Quinn understands this, so she sits on the coffee table that is cluttered with a mountain of papers—both crumpled and smoothed out. Quinn cradles Rachel's hands in hers. "She said something that made you doubt me. Rachel?"

She nods, once, and to Quinn it is enough. She sighs, brushing each knuckle of the brunette's hand against her upper lip. "Will you tell me what it is that Santana said?"

Rachel gulps; the skin against her throat rises and dips. "S-she… she told me how close you four were, back in high school. Santana—she told me how I'll never be close to being within that circle," her breath hitches and it stings for Quinn to listen to her girlfriend talk about not being enough—not being able to fit in with her friends.

"Santana is a bitch," Quinn says softly, her grip ever tightening. "She uses it as a wall between the world and her heart. She's—she's hurting from my breakup with Kim. Santana never liked change. And you," she tips Rachel's face up with a slender finger, and with butterfly kisses, she wipes the tears from Rachel's eyelashes away. "…you're new to her, to us. Give her time, that's all I ask. But if she doesn't relent, I'll do anything in my power to make sure she doesn't say those things anymore."

"Quinn," Rachel whimpers, and in an instant, Quinn is on the couch, the tearful woman sitting on top of her lap. "Quinn, do you—"

"Yes," Quinn says, almost reverently, like every time she speaks about her feelings for Rachel. Like a prayer, a plea directed to the gods to allow her—a mere mortal—to forever cradle the angel in her arms. "I do, so much. And I'll say it again and again, as many times as it takes. I love you Rachel."

A tear drops from Rachel's cheek, and Quinn does not make a move to wipe it away. Why should she, when it is a tear that spoke of gratitude, but most of all, her love?

* * *

><p>"In other news, how did the photo shoot go?" Quinn asks from the dining area as she sets the small table for dinner for two while Rachel rearranges the Vietnamese takeout that Quinn got for them earlier. "Did Kim use that freakishly-huge lens or did she just went all up in your face and took pictures?"<p>

Rachel blushes at the reminder of her morning. Kim's dark, woody eyes and her blossom scent filling her lungs, invading her head. Anyone who has eyes and have a normal pulse would feel the same way as Rachel does, so you can't judge. "Y-yeah, pretty much."

"Yes to what?" Quinn asks, smiling. "Yes to the long lens or yes to the manual zoom-ins?"

"I-err… the manual zoom-ins. She had a variety of other lenses though. And the photo shoot was rather enjoyable."

Quinn looks at her for half a second before pulling out the chair for Rachel to sit in. She kisses Quinn's cheek as her thanks, and they proceed to eat, talking about their day. It seems that Quinn and Anna had a lot of common interests when they met again that morning. Both enjoy reading to the point of it being their major vice. They both buy books, even if there is a high stack on their bedside table.

"Sounds like you had fun with Anna," Rachel grins as she stabs a spring roll before dipping it in the diluted fish sauce. "Have you finished rewriting that scene from your book?"

"Not yet," Quinn mumbles, her shoulders immediately slumping down. Rachel coos at the sight of her pouting girlfriend as she offers her forkful of spring roll. Quinn chomps down on it, fighting to prevent the laughter that is ripping through her chest.

"I'm sure you'll be able to write that scene in soon. But until then," Rachel crumples a paper napkin, throwing it into the brown paper bag. "We need to settle a little '_something, something'_ between us."

Quinn is so close to protesting, but that too-sexy evil glint in Rachel's eyes make her stutter in her speech. She just stares as her girlfriend pulls her up by the hand and drags her to the bedroom, where no amount of talking is done. Unless, of course, one counts begging and whimpers as 'talking'_._ In that case, a whole lot of talking just occurred.

It didn't end in the bedroom, however. No, of course not. Quinn felt the need to prove a million things to Rachel that night, so naturally, the evidencing happened all over the apartment. On the couch. Against Quinn's bookshelf. Against her bureau. In the shower. Up on the counter.

It didn't end until the next morning, when Quinn's neighbours were cradling pillows against the side of their heads while blasting their iPods and muttering to themselves about lesbian neighbours who can't seem to get enough.

* * *

><p>Once they are both in bed, lying side by side, arms engaged in a tight lock, Rachel breathes in the sweat of their love, before pressing a kiss against Quinn's chin that is resting above her head. Quinn hums softly, her hands passionately searching for Rachel's. The brunette can hear the thrumming of her lover's heart, so rhythmic and constant against her arm.<p>

"Rach?" Quinn calls out into the din of the room.

"Yes, Quinn?"

"Why Broadway?" The blonde asks, while looking down at the girl that inspires her to do many things. "Of all things, why perform?"

"Mostly the exhilaration from the crowds," Rachel says, her voice dropping to a serene melody that makes Quinn smile. "I didn't have much going on for me back in high school. I didn't have many friends, so I buried myself into my studies and into music. I never excelled in any subjects, but I did maintain a high 90 average. I realized my dreams at a really young age, Quinn. I've always known that Broadway is where I'm meant to be."

"I don't doubt that," Quinn sighs against the thick mass of hair against her cheek. "You know that I'll be rooting for you, right? I'll be there, every opening and closing night. Until you reach the highest peak of your dreams, okay?"

"What about after that?" Rachel asks, twisting her body to lay flat on her stomach, to peer into Quinn's lucid hazel eyes. "What will you do after the explosion of my stardom throughout Broadway, New York and the world? What then?"

"That," _Maybe then,_ "…is a secret." _…you'll be my wife._

* * *

><p>Later in the afternoon, Quinn tells Rachel that she is going for a light grocery run due to the dwindling of her cupboards. Rachel bids her goodbye before taking a shower.<p>

Dressed in a pair of Quinn's black ball shorts and a faded red shirt that says 'Hi ho Cheerio', she begins to tidy up the living room. She straightens the sheaf of papers on top of the coffee table, puts the crumpled paper balls into the wastebasket beside the desk, and wipes the black wood clean. Rachel is in the middle of rearranging the papers on top of Quinn's desk when the tower collapses and falls behind the table.

Muttering curse words under her breath, she crawls into the space between the two legs and picking up the pages, she catches a glimpse of a particular sheet:

_She exists, in beauty. She, with her wooden tresses, her wooden eyes; a forest nymph. Yes! That is what she is. With lithe movements, she traipses across the snowy plane of my body, and that is when I knew that she does not belong here with me._

_ It punctures me; truly it does, like a bee sting or a twig lashing against the back of my knees. She can't be mine, for she is a woodland queen, deserving the forest as her palace and the trees as her admirers. Whereas I, the icy field of barren snow, can only watch, regard, and love her, from an entirely different biome altogether._

_ She is more than a forests nymph. She is an explosive star. With a voice that large, from a body that small, one would think—_

"Rachel, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

Rachel shoots up from below Quinn's desk, hitting her head in the process. The heavy impact against the brunette's head sends the desk shaking, pens and a few sheets of paper falling from its surface. Rachel whimpers as she crawls out of the space, before cradling her throbbing cranium in her palms.

Quinn kneels before her and places a quick kiss on top of the lump that is beginning to swell. "What are you doing, hiding under my desk? A-are you reading my stories? What the—"

"You don't talk about writing much, Quinn!" Rachel wails despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I don't know what you write about at all! I'm in the dark with all the things you do and I just feel like such an outsider!"

Quinn says nothing but instead she tightens her arms around Rachel.

"I hate how strangers can read your work but I, your girlfriend, can't even manage a glimpse! That's so unfair, Quinn!" Rachel pouts. Quinn sighs and sits down on the floor, pulling Rachel on top of her lap. She threads her thin fingers against the brown strands, just like they did when Quinn hit her head against Rachel's kitchen floor. "I talk about singing and acting—things I love! Why don't you?"

"Because it's about you!" Quinn jeers. Her annoyance is steadily decreasing and is being replaced with mild affection. "God, let me breathe!"

"M-me…? Rachel asks her eyes akin to plates. "What—?"

"Yes, Rachel. I write about a lot of things, but recently it's all about you. It's my solitary confinement." Quinn whispers against her cheek. "I use it to distance my mind from my reality. And I can't write in the presence of others, so you never see me working. It's sacred to me!"

"Am I not important enough to share this 'sacredness' with?" Rachel demands.

"In case you don't remember, I showed you one of my journals the first day we met. You can't say you're not important enough when you know you're extraordinary to me."

"Then why don't you talk about it?" The brunette pouts and sighs, her arms reaching behind her to wrap around Quinn's neck.

"Writing is fight club."

"No one talks about fight club." Rachel whispers with a weak chuckle.

"Precisely," Quinn pecks her forehead before continuing. "Writing is my way of dealing with how amazing and fantastic you are. I admit, it's not all magic and rainbows, but I want you to let me have this, at least for now okay? I promise you, you will read whatever I'm writing when I'm confident enough to show it to you, much less the world."

"But you're brilliant already, Quinn."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she chuckles. "Also, I can't let you read something when it's in the conception process. It's very annoying to read something and not know what's going to happen next and when can you read it."

Rachel snorts and shakes her head, the throbbing against her brain now in its diminishing state. "I feel like your other woman when it comes to that writing of yours."

"I wouldn't make that metaphor," Quinn grins, squeezing Rachel's sides so that she squirms deliciously against Quinn's lap. "My words are like my children. And you are their mother."

Rachel smirks and kisses Quinn with all tongue and teeth. "If I am their mother, what do you say we make some more of those words you love so much?"

Quinn nods, eyes still clouded with desire for the woman writhing against her thighs. She lets Rachel take her, right in the middle of the living room floor with nothing to hold on to, nothing to claw against, other than the smooth skin of Rachel's back, which is now very scratched and very, very red.

"It's official," Quinn gasps, her breathing ragged and her chest heaving. Rachel smirks as she crawls up to rest her head against Quinn's clavicle, kissing her neck in the process. "We finally covered every surface of this apartment. I will now have dirty thoughts everywhere I look."

"Up you go, baby." Rachel giggles, pulling the weak-kneed blonde up to her feet. "Let's take this writing process to the bedroom."

* * *

><p>"What's up Q-ball?" Santana says through the phone that morning when Quinn manages to let go of Rachel just enough for her to leave the apartment for a workshop for the rest of the day. "Are you with Treasure Trail or what?"<p>

"Does that matter?" Quinn asks with the sweetest tone that she could muster. "Are you busy, or are you in between a pair of long legs at the moment?"

"Eh," she hears a rustling of bed sheets and an audible groan that can only come from Brittany. "Not anymore I'm not. Do you want to hang out?"

"Yeah," Quinn nods slowly. "How does that diner by your hotel sound? I'm craving serious bacon."

Santana snorts and Quinn hears her ask Brittany, who consents. "Sure, why the hell not, Q. See you in twenty, alright?"

* * *

><p>"Wait, wait, wait," Santana snarls, looking at Quinn with a feral glint in her eye. "You want me to back the fuck off of your pet troll or you won't talk to me for a <em>month<em>? Are you high?"

"I haven't been since college," Quinn remarks. "I'm not asking for half of your soul, Santana. If I was, I'd just ask Brittany."

"Yeah, Q! I have, like, San's soul in a bottle. You want it?"

"Nah, B." Quinn chuckles. "I just want S to be nice to Rach. That's not too much to ask, right?"

Brittany shakes her head. "Nope. Rach is super cute and super fine, S. Why don't you like her?"

"B, she's getting in between Kim and Quinn!" Santana argues. "She's like Bowser, and Quinn is Mario and Kimbug is Princess Peach."

Quinn scowls at the comparison, but Brittany's face lights up and she nods in understanding. "But wait," the blonde girl steals a line of bacon from Santana's plate before putting it in Quinn's. "Kim doesn't need rescuing though. Didn't she break up with Quinn? Maybe it's Quinn that needs rescuing."

Santana glances at Quinn, who is mulling over what Brittany just said. It is true that it was Kim who broke things off, but for some reason unknown to Quinn, it didn't hurt as expected. There was no physical ache, but a gaping hole was left instead. She does not know which is better.

"And San, you're totally being Bowser right now. You keep taking Quinn to different castles, but Rach keeps catching up to you. Just let her save Q. She looks happier, see?"

Santana and Brittany rest their heads together to stare at Quinn, who squirms beneath their scrutiny. The dark-haired Latina narrows her eyes before letting up on the glares. "You got laid last night, didn't you?"

"And then some…" Quinn mutters, fighting off the smirk that is tearing through her lips. Santana grins at this, offering her hand up for a high-five which Quinn provides. They pay for their meal and the three of them leave the diner and walk along the street, taking in the cool autumn wind. Brittany leads the way, skipping as she does so, stopping before Starbucks with a small look of confusion in her face,

"What's wrong B? Want a hot chocolate?" Santana asks, walking over to Brittany as she shakes her head. She lightly taps the glass, directing their attention towards two of the patrons in the coffee house.

"Isn't that—?"

"Hey look, it's Kim and Rachel." Santana cheers with apparent sarcasm. "Looks like your ex and your current girl are getting along. Isn't that nice?"

"Not really," Quinn sighs, trying to calm herself down before jumping into the ocean of false conclusions. She watches Rachel throw her head back at something that Kim says, and Quinn tries to fend off the feelings of insecurities that always existed inside of her, but always tried to ignore. "R-Rachel told me she has a workshop. For the rest of the day."

Santana was speechless for half a second before muttering, "Damn, Q."

The blonde-haired girl clenches her fist and her jaw before shoving them in her pockets. She glares a multitude of daggers towards the general direction of the two girls, and as if sensing the stabs of sharp metal against the back of her neck, Kim turns back and locks her eyes with Quinn.

A phantom smile appears across the lips of the girl inside the coffee shop. Quinn feels lost, confused. And a little bit of angry. She turns around, back towards the establishment, before finally taking off.

"Well shit," Brittany says as she glances at Santana who merely nods her agreement.

* * *

><p><em>This is where I rage. FFFFUUUUUU. Please, please if you share the rage with tonight's season finale, hit me up and we'll cry and rage together D; !<em>


	16. Chapter 16

_Hey guess what? I have a week of school left (not counting exam days)! Do you know what that means? I can play Bioshock 2 guilt-free!_

* * *

><p>There is a specific heaviness in the darkness of the night as Quinn walks down the street. She stopped running half an hour ago. All she really needed was to get away from the scene of the crime, and now that she is far, far away? The image still clings to the polygonal walls of her mind, like a horror flick playing back to back, haunting her and her dreams. Even if she opens her eyes, the playback continues.<p>

Quinn arrives at her apartment, and straight to her bedroom she goes.

Feeling as if she's drowning, Quinn clings on to her pillow while her mind is submerged in the cavern of feelings and the attempts to avoid it. She thinks about running away. Again, far, far away so that no one could find her, where no one could hurt her. It is too much to ask, Quinn knows, but she no longer knows what to do when the acid of her stomach is clawing through, seeping into her bones, melting her. She shuts her eyes, and the image of Kim and Rachel, hiding out in a hotel room, engulfs her head.

_No, Quinn! I thought we'll stop jumping into conclusions?_ She berates herself. The rapid pounding of her heart against her chest racks her body, and she trembles like leaf. There is no way out, not anymore. The paranoia and the hurt are taking over every cavity of her soul.

A loud banging against her door rips Quinn away from her self-pitying party. Mumbling cuss words under her breath, she answers the door with a scowl.

"Q! You alright?" Santana demands more than ask, pushing her way into Quinn's apartment, Brittany in tow. Her two best friends stand in front of her, with a look that expects _something._

"Clearly not," Quinn says, making her way to the couch. She hugs her legs and she buries her face between her knees. "Should I be?"

"Quinnie," Brittany coos, sitting on the couch beside her as she brushes off the stray hairs that are matting her forehead. "Are you thinking that Kim and Rach are having sexy times behind your back?" Quinn nods, never looking up at her best friends.

"I'm not being paranoid, am I, Santana?" Quinn asks, resting her head against the Latina, who presses her chin against the blonde's shoulder. "I want to know why she had to lie."

"You'll be okay, Q." Santana pats her thigh before glancing towards Brittany. "You know Kim won't do that to you, right?"

"That's the thing," Quinn mutters. "I wouldn't know. All she's ever been is my friend and my girlfriend. There is no way I can know what she is outside of that realm." She looks up at Santana. "I haven't been with Rachel for a long time, S. But is it weird to say that I think that she could be everything else for me?

Santana is taken aback that she physically pulls away from Quinn. "Is she?"

Quinn nods.

"Well then," Santana stands up and paces around the living room. "That changes things then, doesn't it? I know I haven't been very supportive—" Quinn snorts. "Yeah, okay fuck that. I haven't been supportive at all. It's just, Kim used to be everything to you, remember? You guys were the ultimate friends, like me and B."

"That scares me sometimes," Quinn admits, looking up at Santana who is now standing before her. "It scares me how people and relationships can end and start just like that. Kim was mine until she broke up with me. And now Rachel was mine until…" Quinn hesitates. "…until she wasn't."

Brittany pouts and pulls Quinn into a tight hug. "You can't assume that about Rachel though, right? What if they were just talking? What if they were just hanging out and being friends? You want that don't you? For all of us to be friends with one another?"

"My lady's right, Q-ball."

"I know, Britt." Quinn smiles, but it did not reach her eyes.

"Do you trust Rach?"

Quinn nods. "I do, B. And before you ask, I trust Kim too." She watches her two friends, and then diverts her attention to her palm. She looks at the lines of her hands and how they intersect and then exit through the other end of her hand at the juncture of the thumb and the index finger. "It's my emotional instability that is dragging me down."

Brittany hugs her again, and Quinn revels beneath the warmth, until her phone begins to ring.

"Q? You gonna answer that?" Santana asks. Quinn glances at the caller id. It reads 'Rachel'.

Quinn reaches for the phone.

/

Earlier that morning, as Rachel leaves Quinn's apartment building feeling light as air and just as grand, she reaches for her phone where a text message is shown. It is from Kim.

**Kim: **Coffee with me to discuss the photos that will be used for the magazine Y/Y?

Rachel smiles and rolls her eyes, immediately typing in, **Rachel:** You're not giving me that much of a choice, but Y anyways. Where are you?

**Kim: **Starbucks along Fifth. Meet you soon.

/

Rachel spots Kim along the high stools sipping a tall cup while typing away on her laptop. A focused scowl on her face crumples her nose as she types line after line after line. She doesn't notice Rachel until she appears with a tall cup of soy latte in her fist.

"Oh, there you are!" The photographer smiles at Rachel, pulling up a chair and patting it down. "I'm shocked that Quinn managed to let go of you today. I swear that girl clings like a slug."

Rachel throws her head back and laughs. "True! But I love that about her. I'm a touchy person as well, which is why we fit so well together."

"Contrary to your belief, Quinn wasn't always like that," Kim says. "It took a lot of lava to melt that girl. You're reaping the benefits, I suppose."

Rachel falls silent at the woman's insinuation. She knows, for sure, that she doesn't know Quinn that well, and now that they are in a relationship, who said that it will be smooth-sailing from there? She also knows that Quinn is a generally-reserved person who never overshares. Rachel watches Kim click around her laptop, and the brunette cannot help but imagine just what she wants from her.

Kim closes the previous window that was on the screen and opening the photo viewer instead. "Here, I want to discuss the photos you feel showcases you as a person and as a talent." She clicks on a photo and turns the laptop to face Rachel. "I'd like it very much if you can filter through it. I get last pick, of course." Kim winks at Rachel.

"These are gorgeous," Rachel comments as she skims through her photos. Every single frame is not wasted, and it makes Rachel appear so real and so ethereal at the same time.

"It's all you darling," Kim says while she sips. "It's not photoshopped either, and even if it will be, it will be minimal, I promise."

Rachel nods absently while she mentally picks her favourites. "There," she highlights at least twenty pictures and she shows it to Kim who drags them into an entirely different folder. "Thank you for doing this, by the way."

Kim shrugs it off as if it is nothing. "It's no big deal. You're Quinn's girlfriend. It's the least I can do after breaking her heart."

"About that…" Rachel trails off. She fidgets with her Venti cup while avoiding Kim's curious gaze. "I want to know why you two broke up."

"Didn't she tell you already?"

Rachel nods. "But I can't help that what Quinn said was too vague for my taste." She hesitates before facing Kim fully. "I understand if you don't want to discuss it but…"

"How about you tell me what you think?" Kim asks, and Rachel cannot help but hear it as an ominous way to foil Kim's true reasons. "I'll tell you whether it is accurate or not."

Rachel sighs and squares her shoulders. "Very well." She prepares her throat and her theories out on the table by sipping on her drink. "You… You noticed that Quinn is being distant with her writing and her hugs and her kisses, so you had this grand master plan of breaking up with her." She looks at Kim whose face remains stoic but pleasant. "You broke up with her with the excuse that you think she is falling in love with someone else—someone who doesn't exist."

"Carry on."

"You wanted Quinn to think that you're just being a generous friend who doesn't want to tie her down, so you pretend to set her free when you know in your head that she will be coming back to you because she can't lose you, because she thinks you love her that much to let her go."

Kim's smile is blinding, and Rachel suddenly feels very afraid. "Brava, Rachel Berry. Brava. If I knew any better, I'd say that you and I think very much alike, don't you think?" Kim sighs and spreads her fingers against the coldness of the counter. "You are almost completely accurate, it's quite scary."

"Almost?"

"Yes, well. You made me sound like a scheming ex-girlfriend, which I probably am, but you didn't point out the fact that the girl who didn't exist, actually does." Kim smirks, and Rachel imagines her as a cat that just nipped at a nest of rats.

"Do you hate me, then?" Rachel asks quietly, despite the constant hum of the coffee shop.

"No, no of course not!" Kim waves her hand beside her head while shaking her head in defiance. "I imagined that I would, but you see, I can't. Not when you make Quinn that happy." Her feline smirk melts into a friendly smile, and she presses her lips against Rachel's cheek in a friendly gesture. "I haven't seen her smile like that… as if she owns the world."

Kim shakes her head, and Rachel reaches for her hand. "You did love her, didn't you?" The photographer nods and looks away, and the singer can only assume that she is wiping the stray tears away. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be." The raven-haired woman whispers. "Quinn is happy, and besides…" She chuckles without a hint of bitterness whatsoever. "Someone's making me cope. So, friends?"

"Gladly," this time, Rachel beams, like a solar flare, her happiness sky-rocketing towards the heavens. "I can't wait to tell Quinn!" She exclaims, reaching for her phone and pressing the button to speed-dial Quinn's number. She waits.

/

"Hello?" Quinn whispers into the mouthpiece of her phone. Santana kicks her couch and she scowls. "I mean hello?" She repeats with a more vibrant tone.

"Quinn! Guess what!" Rachel shrieks, and even Santana, who is halfway to the kitchen, flinches at the sheer volume of the girl's hysteria. "Guess what, Quinn?"

Despite the emotions running through her at the moment, Quinn cannot help but smile at her girlfriend's expressive state. She pictures Rachel with the widest smile ever, and in an instant, Quinn feels assured. "What, Rachel?" She asks calmly.

"You're not guessing!" Quinn knows that she is pouting somewhere, probably in that coffee shop with Kim. The thought of her current girlfriend and her ex sends an assortment of images in her head.

"You're with Kim and you guys were talking about me?" Quinn states rather than ask. Her tone is hostile and scalding. She glances up at Santana and Brittany who are watching in fascination.

Rachel, apparently, pays no mind to this. "Yes! How did you know?"

"Just a wild guess." Quinn replies stiffly. That's when she realizes that she is closing in on herself. Inner Quinn is now entering the dark chasm that is her head, slamming the door shut, wrapping it in chains and snapping a padlock around everything, while throwing the key down the height of the nothingness that is her home. Into her armoured shell she goes, blocking out everything for fear of being swallowed by her insecurities.

If anything, the shell _is_ her insecurity. This does nothing for Quinn's imploding existence.

"Quinn?" She hears Rachel call her back, like the beam of light that the bathysphere emits while Quinn is in Rapture. It calls to her, but a leash is holding Quinn back. Her family's past, her fears, but most of all, her love. Her love for Rachel, the all-consuming height that looms and hovers inside her systems like a viral infection. It haunts, and it hurts. "Are you there, Quinn?"

"Y-yes. Yes I'm here." Quinn responds. Brittany glances at her with pure worry, while she snakes her arms around the trembling blonde. "Is that what you wanted me to guess?"

"That's not all, silly!" Rachel rambles on; completely unaware of the emotional convulsions that Quinn is breezing through.

"Jesus Christ," Santana grumbles as she cracks open a Four Loko, and she takes a long sip. "Is she even listening to you? Can't she hear your heart breaking or some shit?"

"San, please. Not now." Quinn whispers, covering the mouthpiece. To the phone, she asks again. "What else?"

"Kim and I decided that we will be friends with you as our common link, isn't that great?" Rachel squeals, and in the background, Quinn hears Kim's laugh. It sounds so near, that Quinn wonders just how close she is to Rachel. "We're bonding over soy lattes and you!"

"T-that's great." Quinn manages a whisper. Any louder and she knows that her voice will shatter, along with the rest of her body.

"Quinn? Quinn, baby, are you okay?" The concern that floods Quinn's eardrums is so real that her wrist begins to shudder. If not for the steadfast grip of Brittany, she would've dropped the phone.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm good." Quinn says.

"Do you want me to come over? You don't sound okay, darling."

Quinn's eyes flutter to a close. Head feeling light and lungs feeling incapacitated, she manages another response. "No, no I'm fine. Maybe tomorrow, okay? I… I don't think I can deal with this right now."

"Deal with what, Qui—"

"That's it." Santana grits her teeth, taking the phone from Quinn and ceasing the call. "God, what is wrong with her?"

"She doesn't know, San." Brittany says as she coaxes Quinn out of her balled-up self. "You haven't told her about yourself that much, haven't you, Quinnie?"

"No," she croaks, squeezing her eyes shut. "I-I don't think she needs to hear my past. She doesn't need it in her life right now."

Quinn feels the couch dip and warmth presses against her side. "Quinn, you don't expect to be with Rachel while you're dealing with these issues." Santana consoles her, rocking Brittany and the shrunken girl in her arms in a rhythm.

"She doesn't need it, Santana." Quinn snaps, wrenching free from her friend's tight grip. However, Santana refuses to let go, and instead she tightens into the struggling blonde. "Let. Go!"

"You need to talk to her!" Santana reprimands Quinn.

"What do _you_ know about talking?" Quinn snarls, catching the Latina off-guard. The blonde stands up to create a distance between herself and her two best friends.

"Fuck you, Quinn." Santana whispers. The level of hostility that always existed between Quinn and Santana begins to dip into sub-zero levels. "I don't need you shoving _my_ crap down _my_ throat, okay? It's _you_ we're talking about, you fucking dumbass."

"San—"

"No, Fabray. You're going to stop shutting everyone out—"

Rapid knocking against the oak door of Quinn's apartment sends the three friends into a stunned silence. Santana huffs impatiently as she peers into the peephole, before muttering an insane amount of swear words in the span of ten seconds.

"Santana?" A familiarly-confused voice echoes through the apartment.

"Damn it Berry, what part of 'she can't deal' don't you understand?" Santana demands, slapping the doorframe with a frustrated palm. "Look, Quinn doesn't need shit from anyone right now, okay?"

Brittany, noticing the pained glint in Quinn's eye, decides to lift the blonde in her arms to bring her to her room. Quinn doesn't fight, but instead she melts into Brittany with a sigh that can only be described as absent.

"I'll help Santana keep Rachel out, okay Quinnie?" Brittany whispers after she tucks Quinn into bed. "Calm down and count the geese outside for a bit."

"Sure thing, B." Quinn sighs. Brittany slips out, and that is when Quinn allows the dam break, thus breaking her complete self. That is, after all, what she is. A dam. A break against the current, separating two states. The calm and the other, the destruction. Separating these two states of being is the only thing that Quinn knows to do. That, and writing.

So, she does what she does best, other than constructing sentinels around herself. She digs into her bedside table, procuring a pen and her journal from the drawer. Uncapping the pen, she vomits out words she only longs to speak, out loud, to Rachel.

Too into her soliloquy is she that she did not hear doors crashing and women swearing all over her apartment. That is, until her bedroom door swings open, a wide-eyed and heavy-breathing Rachel storms into her room.

"Quinn, Quinn! What are they talking about? What do they mean by you don't want to see me?"

"Exactly what they mean, Rachel." Quinn says, sitting up from her bed with a steel glare. "Leave me alone, please."

She doesn't mean it, she knows she doesn't. Even Santana and Brittany know she doesn't mean it. But Rachel doesn't. Rachel doesn't know about Quinn and her two selves, only brought forth by thinking about her past. The tearful brunette darts out of the room, and immediately, Brittany lunges after her. She takes Rachel out into the living room, whispering what could only be assuring things in her ear.

"Uh-oh." Santana mutters. "Quinn Fabray, snap out of it!" She shakes Quinn by the shoulders. "Quinn! You're not in high school anymore! Your parents are not here to fuck you up! Quinn!"

The blonde jerks and the steel glare melts away, only to be replaced by a lucid state of revelation. Quinn, seeing Santana's panicked expression, reflects the same in her appearance as well. "W-what happened?"

"Well," Santana slumps down on beside Quinn. "You just asked your girlfriend to leave you alone."

"O-oh shit." Quinn hisses, palming her forehead in exasperation. "What do I do now? Do you think she'll talk to me ever again? Hell, do you think she'll even look at me?"

"Britt managed to catch her before she left the apartment. She's sitting on your couch right now." Santana throws an arm around Quinn's neck, pulling her close. "You have to do this now, captain."

"I-I don't know where to begin." Quinn whimpers.

"Don't worry," Santana stands up, pulling the quivering woman up with her. "I'll start to ease you into it, and you'll take it from there, okay?"

Quinn nods, still in a daze. "You're a great friend, Santana."

"Yeah, yeah…" Santana grumbles. "Tell me that when you're sane." She straightens Quinn's shirt and brushes away the non-existent lint. "Are you ready? Summon that sleek-tongued poet inside of you before we go out there, you hear?"

"No," Quinn shakes her head. "She doesn't need to hear Charlie. She needs to hear Quinn."

"Atta girl," Santana smirks. "Let's do this."

* * *

><p><em>I like Santana here! Also, I probably won't update 'till after my Biology exam, so I shall ask more of you guys. Patience, please?<em>


	17. Chapter 17

_I-I'm back! It's the few weeks before summer school kicks up again, so I'll try update some more the next couple of days!_

* * *

><p>Quinn, along with Santana, leaves her room to see Brittany on the couch with Rachel. The dancer is running her hand through Rachel's hair in long strokes while the brunette mutters words under her breath. They both look up to lock eyes with Quinn, who weakens at the sight of Rachel's eyes surrounded by dampness. Quinn so badly wants to pull the girl into her arms and apologize a million times, but she can't.<p>

She won't, until she reveals what just occurred between them.

"Rachel?" Quinn calls out as evenly as her shuddering chest would allow. She sits on the foot stool, three feet away from Brittany and Rachel, while Santana plops down beside her. "Rachel, I need to tell you something."

"Indeed you do, Quinn." The singer says, her tone is evasive yet direct. Quinn watches her queen's facial structure twitch into a hardened state, and immediately, a sinking hum fills the girl who writes words for a living, and for breathing. "Brittany mentioned that you wish to explain yourself."

"I do," Quinn says, clenching her hands atop her knee so that her veins become defined. "Remember when I told you that I was the English nerd, and that my friends are the rulers of the school?" She waits for Rachel to acknowledge her with a nod before continuing. "That was a lie. I… I was the head cheerleader, and I was cruel to everyone. I ordered geeks and social outcasts to be thrown into dumpsters." Quinn waits for Rachel's expression to melt into that of a clear realization.

"W-why didn't you tell me this?" Rachel murmurs, pulling away from Brittany to sit up with her back rigid and her lips falling together into a straight line.

"I was terrified," Quinn glances at Santana who only offers her a firm nod. "I hated who I was, and how messed up I am. Y-you can't even begin to understand how I had to suffer through my self-loathing, and that's just in high school." She shakes her head to rid herself of the crippling fear that is making it known through the back of her mind again. "I despised myself, Rachel."

"Did you fear that I won't love who you are when you tell me about your _past_?" Rachel demands. Quinn notices how her tipped chin is out of defiance rather than that aura of self-worth that Rachel always seems to enshroud herself with. "You didn't even let me try to reach a decision on my own! Instead you feed me lies?"

Quinn gulps and slams her eyes shut. "I'm sorry," she croaks out.

"What else did you lie about, hmm?" Rachel bolts up and starts to pace all over Quinn's living room. Her arms close in around her chest, and Quinn can see Rachel folding into herself. She wants nothing more to reach out and spread Rachel's arms wide open, in order to smooth her hands over the brunette's creases. But Quinn knows she can't, for to touch Rachel is like touching a wounded animal.

"I have this… _other_ self." Quinn says, revelling beneath the comfort of Santana's warm hand.

"What, like a multiple personality?"

Quinn shrugs. "I wasn't diagnosed, but you could say that."

"S-so your feelings for me…?" Rachel's voice shatters, and this time, Quinn can't help herself. She reaches for Rachel's hand that is dangling in between her curved inner-elbow, to pull her close, on top of her lap. Rachel struggles for two seconds, only to simply melt into Quinn to burrow her face against Quinn's neck.

"Not a single bit of it was a lie," Quinn says, her grip around Rachel's waist tightening. Fearing that if she ever dares to loosen it, Rachel will traipse away, like dandelion puffs blown by the wind. "The way you make me feel, the things I think about with you here? It's all but a manifestation of who I truly am, Rachel."

She nods, and Quinn feels an instantaneous wave of relief, but it is short, like a jab against her arteries with an ice pick. Rachel swallows, Quinn watching the way the skin of her throat tense and flex. She reaches forward to brush her lips against the cartilage there, feeling the brunette shrink and soften in her arms. Quinn's lips continue to hike across the tender gradients of Rachel's neck and collar while her fingers search for the brunette's own, locking them together.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mutters.

"Tell me about your other self," Rachel says, tugging at Quinn's hair to force her to look up at Rachel's wood-toned eyes. "I need to know who I spent my days with, Quinn. Who did I kiss when I woke up? Who did I give myself to?" The desperation clings to their skins, and the atmosphere expands and increases in a sweltering bloom of feeling that Quinn can only identify as _resentment_.

"No, no, no…" Quinn whispers, using her arm that is looped around Rachel's waist to rub against her back in languid strokes. Firm but delicate. "That was all me, Rachel! Charlie only appears when words seem to fall endlessly from my mouth. He's bitter, because of my parents, and it was him who lashed out at you before!" She rests her forehead against the valley of Rachel's chest, trying her hardest not to be torn from the inside out. "Charlie is still me, even if he's angry all the time. I am Charlie, and Charlie is me."

"Quinn," Rachel lets her breath hit the girl's exposed shoulder. "Quinn, I need to process things—"

"B-but Rach," Quinn whimpers, feeling the tears burn her through and through. She sees Santana and Brittany stand up and leave the living room so that the struggling pair would have some privacy. "Rachel, Charlie loves you too! Can't you see? You're saving him—you're saving us! Y-you're my inspiration!"

"Am I?" Rachel asks, and in her eyes, Quinn can see the clashing of flint and steel. It is something that she, who wants to be in control over everything, if it be her literature, but more so her truths. "Am I really saving you, or am I just another way to write for you? Another conflict? A source of inspiration, that's all I am to you, right? That once I've exhausted my purpose for you, you'll throw me away?"

"What?" Quinn gawks at Rachel, jaw open, her grip slackening. Rachel takes the opportunity to yank free of the blonde's grasp, and for Quinn, her regrets can be easily summed up in that moment, when her grip between her heart and her tether to the intermingling beauty of reality and fiction slacks just _enough_ for Rachel to escape. "I—that's not true! I'll never do that to you!"

"How do you know, Quinn?" Rachel stands before her, glorious and strong, just like the first time Quinn saw her in the middle of that stage, belting of the grandiose words from a song she can hear in the back of her head like a heartbreak mixtape, playing over and over again. "You can't give me any guarantees. And isn't that what you're doing? You write for, about, and because of me. What's to say that you won't be tired of me ten years into the future?"

There is an abrupt silence, as they stare at each other in contemplation, in search for the truth.

"You're right," Quinn pushes herself off the ottoman to situate herself in front of Rachel. Eye to eye, she only wants the brunette to know that she won't force her to stay, but Quinn won't let her go without a fight, as well. "You're right," she repeats, taking a furtive step forward. "I can't say anything that will make you believe me, I know this now…" Quinn's palm itches to feel Rachel's hand in hers, but she dares not to reach out. Instead, she clenches her fist to her side. A metaphoric movement, meant for all her worth. "But please, let me prove to you that Charlie and I are one and the same."

"How are you going to do that?" Rachel wonders, not only to Quinn but to the universe as well. Quinn feels herself disintegrating by the tips of her toes when the woman she loves looks at her with such a vacant stare, as if Rachel doesn't know what to think of Quinn any longer. "Hell, how can I even trust you?"

"Rachel—"

"No, Quinn." She retracts away from the blonde who depicts the breeze from Rachel's movement as an air cutter slashing against her insides. "Don't."

It is always the simple words that burn the best.

"Okay," Quinn nods, taking a step away—a step down. If she could, she would lift up her arms in surrender, but everything about her feels heavy, as if every blood vessel, every particle that makes up Quinn Fabray weighs a ton, thus bringing her down, almost to her knees. But she doesn't collapse. No, there is plenty of time for that when Rachel leaves her. For now, she will be resilient enough to see the singer out. "Okay."

Rachel nods and reaches for Quinn. The blonde just stands there, letting the final moments of affection be drained from Rachel's veins and into hers. The brunette cups Quinn's cheek and places a hesitant yet lingering kiss against the hollow space between her cheek and jaw. The girl who is running on empty flutters her eyelashes, and she hopes.

"Give me time," Rachel whispers against the ghostly-white of Quinn's skin. She feels the blonde girl nod, and that is when she moves away. Hazel eyes are opened, staring with clear-cutting intent through Rachel. Quinn nods again, emotion refilling every inch of her. Rachel steps back, and oh, how Quinn longs to take the steps to dance the tentative tango that Rachel is currently leading.

Quinn falls to the ground, of her apartment that seems to have dropped to sub-zero temperatures as soon as the door slammed against its hinges. Rachel… Rachel just left. Rachel, who is not able to deal with Quinn and her fictitious explorations and the way Quinn relies on the girl with the voice that can shatter the core of the earth with its sheer strength.

It's nothing new, even if it's only the second time around. And so, the gulf expands. The crevice begins to spill over with thoughts and feelings and visions of scenes with love and heartbreak as its most brilliant colour scheme. Quinn's palm itches, but this time, not for Rachel. She means, it is still there, the desire to hold on to that soft and delicate hand that she loves to kiss and hold and feel, but it is being muffled by that impending desire to grab a pen and strangle it by its neck as it bleeds over coarse pages.

Bleeding, with emotion, with the things that Quinn is soaring through at the moment. With words.

However, she hates that this time, her words are not enough.

* * *

><p><em>*clears throat* so, how's the glee hiatus treatin' ya?<em>


	18. Chapter 18

_I'm sparing you my A/N until the very end. Read on, young sailor!_

* * *

><p>Santana leads Brittany out of Quinn's bedroom to see the blonde, collapsed on the ground with her knees propped up, her arms hugging her legs closer to her chest. Her head is buried in between the cracks of her lap, and her muffled voice permeates the tense air. Santana walks over to Quinn, ready to comfort the close-to-breaking girl, but not by saying 'I told you so'.<p>

"Quinn?"

"This is your fault you fucking bastard," Quinn mutters absently, her eyes glazed over as she begins to subtly rock in place. "Fuck you, Charlie. Look what you did. Y-you made us lose Rachel. You made me lose her. Look what you did." A sob escapes, and in an instant, Santana's arm is wrapped around the girl whose shoulders are being racked by her sorrow. Quinn tries to hide it by burrowing deeper into her knees and into herself, but Brittany appears on her other side to gently tip her chin upwards.

"Quinnie, we're so sorry." She whispers.

"I hate you Charlie," Quinn says, giving no indication of her awareness. Santana shakes her head and is about to grab her by the shoulders to shake her wide awake, but Brittany stops her.

"I think this has been a long time coming," the blonde dancer murmurs. "Let her deal with this, okay? And we have to call Kim."

"Roger that," Santana nods. She stands up and heads to the kitchen to make the call in private. As she waits for Kim to pick up, she eyes the lilac walls of the kitchen, running her hand against the cold porcelain tiles. She wants—so, so badly—to hunt Rachel down, grab her by the hair and drag her back in the apartment to tell her about Quinn, or at least the stuff that the writer is most ashamed of. Santana can see that with Rachel, Quinn is a salad of emotions. It wasn't a bad thing, but it wasn't a good thing, either.

Quinn might seem emotionally-able, appear as if she can deal with whatever heartbreak life dishes out for her, and she can. She can, at least for an unknown length of time. Going beyond her point, it drives Quinn into a state of recluse, where she locks herself up into the abyss that is best described as Charlie's home.

"Hello? Santana, are you there?" Kim's voice calls out to her from the phone. The Latina shakes her head, chastising herself for thinking too much.

"Yeah, Kimbug. Listen, are you busy?"

"Not at the moment, but—"

"Great. Quinn needs you, stat. Charlie's back again and I think Quinn lost it."

"O-oh," a moment lapses past. "I-I'll be there." And Kim hangs up.

Santana scowls at her phone, wondering at what just occurred. That brief silence so unlike Kim, who is prompt and concise in speech, knows what to say even before things happen. She shrugs it off to return to the living room where Quinn is still on the floor while Brittany coaxes her into moving to the couch.

"San, help. Let's move her to the couch."

"No," Quinn mumbles. "Rachel—Charlie—I…"

"Shh," Brittany murmurs against the blonde head that is still trembling and shaking. "It's okay, Quinnie. You're okay!"

"No I'm not." Quinn says. "I'm really not. I hate you Charlie. I hate you, I hate you…"

Santana watches her girlfriend hug her best friend for a sliver of comfort to envelope her. She clenches her fists, wanting to hit something or rather, someone. The resounding echo of flesh hitting flesh, the pained cries, the relief that comes afterward… Santana wants to hit Rachel for doing this—for destroying Quinn indefinitely—to her best friend.

"Fuck it," Santana grabs her coat and is halfway out the door when she sees Kim walking from the far end of the hallway towards Quinn's door. She retreats back, and Brittany looks at her, understanding her situation. She sits on the couch, listening to Quinn insult Charlie and sob about Rachel. Normally, Santana would roll her eyes and let Kim and Brittany deal with weepy Quinn, but this time, she can't.

"How is she?" Kim asks when she walks in. "What happened?"

"You…" Quinn stares at Kim with that glassy expression frozen against her ghostly features. "C-Charlie says he loves you—more than Rachel."

"Q-Quinn?" Kim tries to approach the tearful girl, but seeing her balled up, a mess, shaking and rocking aimlessly while her eyes burn into Kim's skin, Santana fears the worst when Quinn stands up, teetering. She walks over to where Kim is rooted. A hand on the shorter girl's shoulder, trailing down, and caressing skin until it stops before Kim's hand. Quinn grips it, staring into Kim's eyes, her face inscrutable.

"Charlie loves Rachel," Quinn repeats, enunciating every word as if Kim couldn't understand, as if she is speaking an entirely foreign language. "But Charlie says he wants to be with you too." Kim opens her mouth to say something but Quinn squeezes her hand. "But I want to be with Rachel completely. He won't shut up about you. I hate him. I hate him so much..." Quinn bites her lip, her chest heaving. "He won't let me have her unless I have you too!"

"I-I'm sorry." Kim murmurs, taking her other hand to sweep the matted hair against Quinn's forehead. "You need to talk to Charlie. Really talk to him. Tell him… Tell him I-I don't love him anymore, and to leave you alone, okay?"

The hurt that flashes across Quinn's eyes is so evident that even Santana flinches. Quinn pulls away, and, from Santana's perspective, the blonde's stance is wider, her shoulders are squared. The writer's perfect jaw is hardened as Quinn moves away. Her eyes, if possible, become emptier. "I see."

"I'll talk to Rachel for you."

"No!" Quinn shakes her head and glares at Kim. "No… I need to have her as Quinn, not because of your influence or whatever. I need—I need…"

"I get it," Kim smiles. "You'll win her over on your own."

Quinn says nothing else and Santana begins to feel as if she is imposing. Quinn's apartment seems so restricting yet sacred now. She sees Quinn stare at the space between her splayed fingers, and Santana knows that she has to leave. To see her friend in such a state—so heartbroken over two girls that are simultaneously ripping her partitioned heart in two—makes Santana feel sick to her stomach. Santana motions for Brittany to gather up her things to leave, and the dancer nods.

Before the three of them leave, Santana looks beyond her shoulder to see Quinn holding up both of her hands as if weighing something: her love for Rachel or Charlie's love for Kim. Whoever prevails, Santana hopes that she would treat Quinn properly and with care, like a wind caressing the leaves of a blooming plant.

Santana only hopes that Quinn won't lose herself forever.

/

All alone in her living room, Quinn stalks over to her desk where her Royal Arrow sits glinting, smiling at her, beckoning her over. Quinn slumps down against her wobbly seat wanting so badly to feel the hand of Rachel that often appears when she is hunched above her typewriter, desperate and restless. She remembers scowling at the still-blank page, and Rachel would appear, squirming into Quinn's lap, whispering encouragement into her ear. Of course, it would all end in the bedroom, but afterwards…

Afterwards, Quinn would be brimming with emotion, with happiness, with euphoria, spilling words upon words—forming sentences until she finishes a page, and then another. When all that she can say is said, she would return to where Rachel is waiting. Quinn smiles. Rachel was always waiting.

Quinn looks beyond the window, seeing the grey New York skies hovering above the park. It dawns upon her then, that this page would never fill itself. And even if she does, it would be for naught.

For Rachel is no longer waiting for her.

"Fucking hell," Quinn mumbles to no one but to herself as she runs her fingers against the keys. She rolls in a fresh sheet, indents it, and she steels herself, summoning the courage to write.

Nothing comes. Nothing appears.

If anything it is the first time in years that Quinn feels truly alone. No words to comfort her, no fictitious people running from the inner depths of her mind to console her that everything will be fine. No, tonight, Quinn is just Quinn, a lone human who is feeling the emotions that the human race is so well known for.

_Sorrow_, she thinks, her fingers landing against the keys. _It was such a beautiful thing before. What makes it all different now? Why do the words seem so clogged up, never willing to leave me at all_? Quinn scowls, and it occurs to her. _Charlie._

_Hey, you sick fuck! If you're listening right now, I hate you! _She screams in her mind_. Why won't you leave me alone? Why won't you let us be happy? Do you get off on making me feel like nothing?_

Quinn sighs and glares at the huge stack of paper that is sitting beside her typewriter. She looks around her apartment and immediately she is filled with a momentous wailing in the pit of her stomach. Everything whispers Rachel's name. Her couch, Quinn recalls their Thursday Movie Nights. The cute doodles of a blonde and a brunette holding one another's hands tacked against Quinn's bulletin board, Quinn remembers rainy nights spent playing Scrabble and playing Hangman.

Everything echoes of Rachel, and Quinn feels the physical ache burning her chest. She holds up a hand to rub the spot, but it only proceeds to hurt more than ever.

"Damn it!" Quinn shouts, slamming her palm against the table. It doesn't do a thing, but reawaken a twin pulse inside of her.

_Hey Quinn, no need to break your desk. You're broke ass can't afford it._

Ah, there it is, Charlie's dulcet voice filling the darkest corners of Quinn's head. There were days back when she was a teenager, when Quinn thinks that she is being possessed when the voice would float above and around her head, swirling like brandy against the iceberg of her father's crystal lowball glass. The first time Charlie talked to Quinn, she was battling bible camp for the summer.

Now, their relationship can be easily labelled as love-hate. Charlie is a hard character to get used to, as the boy is very imprudent and crass, and yet he knows what Quinn needs to hear, even if the blonde girl is not ready to listen to it.

"You need to explain yourself to Rachel." Quinn orders, shutting her eyes to focus on the other resident inside her head. "She doesn't get what's going on with us."

_Well, duh! That's your own fault for keeping me from her, you know. Besides, Kim understands! Why don't we stay with her instead? Saves us the trouble of revealing ourselves again._

Quinn's face hardens at Charlie's dismissive tone. "Kim doesn't love you anymore."

Her spine seizes up, and she feels Charlie's sadness, consuming her once more. _O-oh? _He asks.

"Yes," she grits out. "Look, you love Rachel too!"

_I do! _Charlie responds sadly. _But Kim understands us. She accepts us! The minute Rachel turned her back on us, I felt our heart break, Quinn. I don't think I can handle that again when five years from now, she won't be able to deal with us, and she'll walk out again!_

"We're not children!" Quinn hisses, feeling the least bit of sympathy towards Charlie's reasoning. "And we caught her by surprise. She only found out about you today, and it was you being a dick for taking over for two seconds!"

_Once again, whose fault is that?_

"That's not the point!" Quinn cries. "You make it sound as if we can't live without her. We can, Charlie. But we both know i-it would be nice… To wake up to her eyes every morning."

_Quinn…_ Charlie slumps against the wall of the dark room where he is situated within the blonde girl. _You can't just blame it all on me._

"I wasn't!" Quinn argues. She rises from her wooden chair to slump against the couch. "You know what? We need to take a breather. Let's not worry about Rachel for a while."

_As if you can do that,_ scoffs Charlie. _You were the one sitting in front of your typewriter and scowling at it as if it's at fault that you can't write a single thing! That's your fault too, you know!_

"What now?" Quinn demands.

_You were thinking about Rachel as you stare at the blank page._ Charlie explains, his voice becoming weary with every second that blinks past._ You let her in the writing bubble when you know full well that __**writing is a solidarity thing**_**. **_You can't have people barging in, it ruins your creative dynamics, and then you only rely on them for inspiration. That's what you did with Rachel, Quinn. Do you understand?_

Quinn gulps, nodding. She knows that Charlie can see her, feel her. Hell, he _is_ her. Charlie is right. Her self-proclaimed occupation as a writer is now tainted by Rachel as soon as she let the brunette worm her way in through the hairline cracks of the bubble that Charlie was talking about. To have another human sitting beside Quinn in that protective sphere of writing and creativity, to usurp words from their presence was the biggest mistake she's ever made.

Because, what happens when they are gone?

"You're right," Quinn manages to choke out as tears begin to flood her eyes. "I started relying on her for stories to tell, and now…" She lets out a frustrated groan, covering her eyes with her forearm. "Now what?"

_Win yourself back into loneliness _is all that Charlie whispers before the dual beating against Quinn melts into the void.

Quinn blinks the salted tears away, breathing through her lips as she stares at the ceiling. Once again, Charlie is right. To fix the fissures of the metaphorical writing dome that every human that breathes and consumes vowels and constants have, she must fight the desire to be with another, and instead, trading it in for loneliness, for the human emotion that is the foundation for prose.

She takes refuge in front of her typewriter once more, fingers hovering above the keys, begging to be pressed. A deep breath, Quinn reaches for the courage that Charlie is tying up in order for it to reach her. Quinn wallows, drowns, swims through the lake where she first saw Rachel waiting for her, way back when she was still at a loss for what to do.

The first letter lands against the stark page, and Quinn feels the pendulum swinging.

Frustrations, dreams, aspirations. They leave Quinn one by one, only to be solidified into the white ground, until it is filled to the brim. But she would press forward as she allows the thoughts bury her into a mode of self where she is aware of things, yet she is alone in her mind.

She chances a glance outside the window, where the first signs of snow starts to fall. Quinn smiles as the temperature in her apartment drops and the typewriter keys feel like ice. She is drained, more and more, until the last sentence flows out of her freely, like carbon dioxide.

Finally, Quinn is temporarily free of the damaging alpha particles that had been looming all over her headspace, the particles that were destroying her, tearing her apart protein by protein, writing and rewriting her chromosomes into an unknown genetic code.

Quinn has finally found herself again.

With the soft hum and patter of the snowflakes against her trembling windows, Quinn opens up her laptop and opening up the email client, she tells Anna that at last, her novel is finished.

**.enfin**

* * *

><p><em>Okay, yes you read right. It's done. I know you're probably mad. I'm mad too. But remember that this is what I (or we) always wanted for Rachel to have; to be more than the douche lord named Finn and to realize her dreams. I guess this is what I wanted for Quinn, since they made canon!Quinn seem so defeated, not even bothering to fight her way out of Lima.<em>

_I'll let you know now. There is a sequel and it's entitled Covered in Rain, already mapped out in my head. Like City Love by John Mayer, Covered in Rain is the sequel. Apparently, Covered in Rain was meant to be the sad one, and City Love, the happy._

_I tell you this. It's not the same._

_The gist is there. The loneliness. The things that Quinn feels here, will be felt too. But this time, she has her occupational dreams. She has what she wants, but not what she needs._

_If you hate me so much that you can't be bothered to read the sequel, I understand. I suppose, all I can say is thank you for sticking with Quinn until her aspirations have been reached, and her secular ride with Rachel has come to a hesitant close. Really, thank you. To all the lurkers and reviewers, you've made me a happy kid._

_Until Covered in Rain!_


End file.
